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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES 
MEXICO 


A  Mexican  chano 


THE   MAN   WHO    LIKES 
MEXICO 


THE  SPIRITED  CHRONICLE  OF 
ADVENTUROUS  WANDERINGS  IN 
MEXICAN    HIGHWAYS  AND  BYWAYS 


BY 


WALLACE  GILLPATRICK 


ILL  USTRA  TED  WITH  PHO  TOGRAPHS 


'H»fi^^f^€*» 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

19U 


Copyright,  191 1,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


Published,  October,  igti 


/■2.JS 


yy) 


TO  MY  MEXICAN  FRIENDS  FROM 
WHOM  I  HAVE  RECEIVED  MUCH. 
KINDNESS  THIS  BOOK  IS  GRATE- 
FULLY DEDICATED. 

THE   AUTHOR. 


1331105 


FOREWORD 

During  my  residence  in  Mexico  City  I  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  a  young  officer  in  the  Mexican  army,  Colo- 
nel Victor  H ,  who  was  subsequently  on  mission  in 

the  United  States  and  in  Europe.  I  was  introduced  to 
him  as  "  The  Man  Who  Likes  Mexico." 

"  If  that  is  so,"  he  said  in  English,  "  then  I  like  you." 
And  the  acquaintance,  thus  begun,  developed  into  an 
enduring  friendship. 

Americans  who  visit  Mexico  will  not  fail  to  discover 
much  that  is  likable ;  and  it  seems  only  just  to  remark 
first  on  what  is  likable,  deferring  adverse  comment  until 
a  careful  observation  of  life  and  conditions  shall  have 
rendered  intelligent  criticism  possible.  For  the  rest,  it 
is  undeniable  that  we  Americans  are  more  favorably 
disposed  towards  the  foreign  visitor,  who  likes  our  coun- 
try, than  towards  the  one  who  begins  by  finding  fault 
with  us. 

Mexico  is  proud  of  her  civilization  and  of  her  culture ; 
of  her  builders,  painters,  sculptors,  musicians  and  men 
of  letters.  Among  her  early  writers,  she  is  proud  of 
such  names  as  Vetancurt,  Medina,  Padilla,  Lizardi, 
Clavigero,  Navarrete,  Quintana  Roo,  Bustamante  and 
Lucas  Alaman ;  and  since  her  literary  renaissance,  which 


FOREWORD 

occurred  during  the  last  half  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
of  Roa  Barcena,  Orozco  y  Berra,  Gutierrez  Otero,  Guil- 
lermo  Prieto,  Altamirano,  Acufia,  Romero,  Gutierrez 
Najara,  Juan  de  Dios  Peza,  Ruiz  de  Alarcon,  Riva 
Palacio,  Justo  Sierra,  Dias  Covarrubias,  Diaz  Miron, 
Valenzuela,  and  Othon.  Among  the  younger  men  are 
Gonzalez  Obregon,  Urueta,  Nervo,  Tablada,  Campos, 
Davalos  and  a  score  of  others.  Mexico  cannot  under- 
stand the  indifference  to  her  culture  on  the  part  of  the 
average  American,  within  her  gates,  whose  sole  aim  is 
apparently  the  acquisition  of  wealth.  The  educated 
Mexicans  are  familiar  with  the  literary  product  of 
America,  and  our  writers,  especially  our  poets,  are 
known,  both  in  translation  and  in  the  original.  An  ac- 
quaintance with  Mexican  writers  is  highly  desirable  for 
resident  Americans,  and  will  be  found  of  great  value  in 
the  study  of  Mexican  life  and  customs. 

The  journeys  described  in  the  following  pages  oc- 
curred during  the  first  two  years  of  a  residence  in  Mex- 
ico of  nearly  six  years.  Mexico  City  was  nearly  always 
the  starting-point,  and  it  proved  both  pleasant  and 
profitable  to  return  occasionally  to  the  Mexican  Capital 
for  rest  and  perspective.  The  traveler  with  leisure 
might  well  adopt  a  similar  plan;  and  if  the  places  here 
described  are  visited,  the  life  and  customs  will  be  found 
but  little  changed. 

The  title  of  this  volume  is  the  name  under  which  I 
wrote  as  correspondent  for  the  Mexican  Herald,  and 
I  desire  to  express  my  gratitude  to  the  Editors,  Man- 


FOREWORD 

ager  and  Staff  of  that  paper  for  their  unfailing  approval 
and  assistance.  I  also  wish  to  thank  Mr.  Jose  Lupercio 
of  Guadalajara,  Mr.  C.  B.  Waite  of  Mexico  City,  and 
the  Mexican  Herald  for  the  use  of  photographs. 

W.  G, 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  I 

PAGE 

The  Lure  of  Mexico:  California  a  Stepping-Stone:  Invi- 
tation to  Visit  a  Mexican  Mine :  The  Outfit :  A  For- 
tunate Meeting:  Railroad  Travel  and  Opinions  of 
Fellow  Travelers :  The  English  Race  Natural  Fault- 
Finders :  Arrival  at  Durango :  A  Vanishing  Mexican 
Friend:  Baths  of  Las  Canoas:  My  First  Bull-Fight: 
Preparations  for  a  Long  Journey:  Over  Mexico's 
Mountains  on  a  Mule 3 

CHAPTER  H 

A  Ride  in  the  Dark:  Misgivings:  The  Fiddler  Guide: 
Wolf- Face:  No  Stop  for  Dinner:  Beautiful  Mountain 
Scenery:  Ten  Hours  of  Suspense:  Wayside  Crosses: 
Valley  of  Huahuapan :  Reunion  With  Friends :  Work 
and  Play:  Life  in  a  Mexican  Pueblo:  A  Beautiful 
Box:    A  Bad  Peon 28 

CHAPTER  HI 

Stories  of  Lost  Mines:  "El  Naranjal":  Kow  Mines 
Were  Lost :  Fear  and  Strange  Superstitions  of  the  In- 
dians :  Story  of  the  Man  Who  Says  He  Sawr  "  El  Nar- 
anjal " :  Story  of  "La  Providencia ":  The  Foolish 
Compadres :    The  Life  Search  of  Don  Modesto  ...     52 

CHAPTER  IV 

» 

Leaving  the  Mines:  A  Last  Ride:  The  Thoughts  of  a 
Mozo :  A  Meeting  on  the  Train :  A  Man  is  Known 
by  his  Shoes :  Pleasant  Experience  in  Zacatecas :  Ar- 
rival at  Mexico  City:  Kindness  of  Mexicans  to  Stran- 
gers :     The    Best    Way   to    Learn    Spanish :     The    Plaza 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Mayor:  Cathedral  Towers:  Thoughts  of  the  Con- 
quest: The  Paseo  de  la  Reforma:  A  Meeting  with 
Diaz 82 

CHAPTER  V 

Peaceful  Morelia :  Lake  Patzcuaro :  Tzintzuntzan :  Urua- 
pan  and  Its  Boom :  A  Fortunate  Washout :  Progress 
Comes  to  Him  Who  Waits :  Products  of  Uruapan : 
Ideal  Climate  in  the  Tropics :  Something  About  Saddle- 
Horses :  Michoacan  and  the  Tarascos :  Burial  of  a 
Tarasco  King:  Solemnity  of  the  Indians:  Their  Fes- 
tivals :     Their  Arts  and  Crafts 126 

CHAPTER  VI 

Return  to  Mexico  :  Mexicans  True  Friends :  Queretaro  the 
Beautiful:  The  Works  of  Tres  Guerras:  The  Aque- 
duct: A  Visit  to  The  Hill  of  The  Bells:  The  Country 
Remained  at  Peace:  Guadalajara  the  Pearl  of  the 
West:  The  City's  Evening  Life:  In  Beauty's  Ranks: 
The  Charro  Horseman :  Things  that  are  Different : 
Social  Customs:    An  Inquisitive  Shopkeeper   ....   158 

CHAPTER  VII 

Visit  to  Lake  Chapala :  A  Race  for  Dinner :  A  Pleasant 
Swimming- Pool :  Indian  Fisherman  :  "  El  Presidio  "  : 
A  Ride  on  a  Mexican  Coach :  Trite  Truths  About 
Silao:  Sights  Worth  Seeing  in  Guanajuato:  Savage 
Dogs:  A  Method  of  Warfare:  The  Cross  on  the 
Mountain :    A  Man  's  a  Man  For  A'  That 184 

CHAPTER  VIII 

Busy  Leon:  Pleasant  Visit  at  the  Home  of  Don  Juan: 
Golden  Days  in  Lagos :  Aguascalientes,  the  Land  of 
Hot  Waters,  Genial  Climate  and  Warm  Hearts :  Its 
Foreign  Colony :  Baths  al  Fresco :  "  Mochte  "  :  Bar- 
ber's Versatility:  An  Antique  Zarapc :  Pucbla,  the  City 
of  Angels:  Its  Churches:  Its  Monuments:  Birthday 
of  Uncle  Sam:     Difficulties  of  English:     Abundio    .     .  203 


CONTENTS 
CHAPTER  IX 

PAGE 

Fair  Jalapa :  New  Scenes  and  Customs :  A  Strange  Plant : 
The  Stone  Monkey:  The  Cathedral:  The  Market: 
The  Plaza :  Longing  for  Old  Friends :  Ancient  Tlax- 
cala:  Historical  Reminiscence:  Convent  of  San  Fran- 
cisco :  Meeting  the  Governor :  El  Santuario :  Ro- 
mance and  Tragedy 231 

CHAPTER  X 

The  Fiest  of  Covadonga:  Gayety  of  the  Spaniard:  His 
Mexican  Cousin  Helps  Him  Celebrate:  Epifanio's  Tip: 
His  Version  of  the  Spanish  Conquest:  The  Eve  of 
Mexican  Independence :  Quaint  Folk  Songs :  Dancing 
in  the  Streets:     Viva  Mexico 258 

CHAPTER  XI 

Anticipation:  Pleasures  of  Mexico  City:  Second  Visit  to 
Durango :  Over  the  Mountains  with  Manuel:  A  Rainy 
Day:  The  Voice  of  the  Sea:  Don  Lucio :  Snow,  Sun- 
shine and  a  Camp  Under  the  Pines :  A  Lonely  Maid : 
Manuel's  Diplomacy  :  Snow  in  the  Mountains :  Oranges 
Keep  Cold:     The  Ideal  Camp 288 

CHAPTER  XII 

A  Night  at  Hotel  Japones :  Fear  of  a  Storm :  An  Early 
Start:  A  Mountain  Rancho:  Mountain  Hospitality: 
Recreant  Mules :  Forlorn  Indian  Family :  Charm  of 
Mountain  Travel :  The  Last  Descent :  "  El  Capitan  " : 
Manuel  Sings  As  the  Journey  Ends:  Magnolias:  A 
Meeting  With  Bob :  Home  Again :  The  Holidays  at 
the  Mines :  Serenade  and  Midnight  Mass :  The  First 
Wheelbarrow :  Isidro's  Request :  Christmas  Dinner : 
A  Mexican  Ball :     The  Bandit  Eracleo  Bernal  ....  308 

CHAPTER  XIII 

Seeing  the  Mine:  Testing  a  Tenderfoot:  Open  Cut  to 
Lower  Level :     Exploring  Ancient  Tunnels  :     Mysterious 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Voices :  Castles  in  Spain  :  Something  About  the  Peon  : 
The  Company  Store :  EI  Diablo  and  the  Talking  Ma- 
chine: Marriage  an  Expensive  Luxury:  The  Peon's 
Fondness  for  Children :  Quaint  Songs  Heard  in  the 
Durango  Hills :  The  Most  Interesting  Thing  in  the 
World 330 

CHAPTER  XIV 

A  Mountain  Floor:  Swimming  the  Arroyo:  Dangers  of 
Mountain  Travel :  Arrival  of  the  Mail :  The  Life  of 
Don  Bias :  The  Silent  Horseman :  A  Night  at  "  Pig 
Gulch  " :  Electric  Storm  in  the  Mountains :  A  Dream 
City :     It's  a  Long  Ride  That  Has  No  End 358 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

A  Mexican  charro Frontispiece 

Photographed  by  C.  B.  Waite,  Mexico   City. 

Mexican   mozo 6 

Getting   supper i5 

Don   Alfredo 15 

A  long  journey 25 

Hunting  in  Durango 25 

Over  Mexico's  mountains  on  a  mule 36 

Sharpening  the  drills .36 

The  pet  burro 42 

An  old  church  made  into  an  American  home 42 

The   living-room 47 

The  table  was  covered  with  enamel  cloth 47 

The   foolish  compadre 61 

"  He  kept  his  peons  at  work  in  the  mines  " 67 

The    funeral   procession 78 

Prayers  in  the  little  church 78 

West  side  of  Plaza  Mayor,  Mexico  City 90 

Zacatecas   cathedral 95 

Church  of  Guadalupe,  Zacatecas 95 

Paseo  de  la  Reforma,  Mexico  City 104 

Porfirio  Diaz no 

Castle  of  Chapultepec 114 

Corridor  of  Chapultepec 114 

Garden  of  Chapultepec 119 

Gate  to  Chapultepec  military  college iig 

San  Ipolito,  Mexico  City,  the  first  church  built  after  the  con- 
quest    , 123 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Cathedral  of  Morelia 129 

Photographed  by  C.  B.  Waite,  Mexico  City. 

The  blacksmith 138 

The  road  to  Uruapan 143 

Falls  of  Tzar^racua,  Uruapan 143 

A  Tarasco  fiesta 154 

Los  gallos   (cock-fight) 154 

Fountain  in  Mexico  City;  monument  to  Cuauhtemoc  in  the 

distance 159 

Two  views  of  the  patio  in  the  federal  palace,  Queretaro  .     .   166 

The  road  to  the  hot  country I7'l 

Moonlight  on  Lake  Chapala 192 

In  a  Mexican  garden 209 

The  convent 215 

In  a  convent  garden,  Puebla 215 

Monument  of  Independence,  Puebla 220 

Church  of  Our  Lady  de  los  Remedios,  on  the  great  pyramid 

of  Cholula 225 

Bird's-eye  view  of  Puebla,  Mexico 230 

Photographed  by  C.  B.  Waite,  Mexico  City, 

On  the  Viga  Canal 238 

View  east  from  Cortes's  Palace,  Cuernavaca,  Mexico  .     .     .  244 

Photographed  by  C.  B.  Waite,  Mexico  City. 

Tower  and  cypress-trees 249 

Ixtacalco 255 

Churchyard  gateway 255 

The  Discovery  of  Pulque 264 

Azucarilleros  who  sell  tiny  sugar  figures  for  a  few  cents  and 

play  a  tune  for  the  buyer 268 

Two  portraits  of  Epifanio  —  in  working  and  gala  array  .      .  273 

Approach  to  Paseo  de  la  Reforma,  Mexico  City 277 

Street  kitchens 277 

National  palace,  Mexico  City 284 

Jockey  Club,  Mexico  City,  during  flower  carnival  ....  284 
Mexican   rurales 301 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Manuel  with  pack-mules  on  the  snow.     Altitude,  about  10,000 

feet 315 

El  Capitan 315 

In  the  valley 326 

Feeding   the  pack-mules 326 

Peon  on  ore  dump  rolling  a  cigarette 335 

Water-carrier  for  the  mine 335 

Weighing  the  bead 342 

The  beginning  of  a  mine 342 

American   mine-owners 351 

The  camp  mascots 351 

The  foreman  of  the  mine 361 

The  storekeeper 361 

The  singer 369 

Dona  Marciana  on  the  trail 369 


THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO 


.     .     .     Land  of  the  Sun, — 
Of  palm,  and  pine,  and  blood-red  cactus  flower,- 
Mysterious  land, —  I  love  thee  :  — 


THE 

MAN  WHO   LIKES    MEXICO 

CHAPTER  I 

The  Lure  of  Mexico:  California  a  Stepping-Stone:  Invitation 
to  Visit  a  Mexican  Mine:  The  Outfit:  A  Fortunate  Meet- 
ing: Railroad  Travel  and  Opinions  of  Fellow  Travelers: 
The  English  Race  Natural  Fault-Finders :  Arrival  at  Durango  : 
A  Vanishing  Mexican  Friend:  Baths  of  Las  Canoas :  My 
First  Bull-Fight:  Preparations  for  a  Long  Journey:  Over 
Mexico's  Mountains  on  a  IMule. 

FROM  boyhood  I  felt  the  hire  of  Mexico.  Reared 
in  CaHfornia,  where  the  romance  of  early  Mexi- 
can days  still  lingers,  and  where  the  prodigality 
of  nature  and  of  life  are  in  keeping  with  Mexican  tradi- 
tion, I  ardently  dreamed  of  this  Spanish-American 
southland.  California  is  a  good  stepping-stone  to  Mexico 
—  at  least  it  proved  so  for  me.  I  had  been  living  for  sev- 
eral years  in  New  England,  when  I  received  an  invitation 
from  an  old  California  friend  couched  in  the  warm 
phraseology  peculiar  to  Californians,  asking  me  to  visit 
him  and  his  wife  at  his  mines  in  Mexico.  The  mines 
were  located,  he  informed  me,  in  the  State  of  Durango. 
To  reach  them  from  San  Francisco,  they  took  the  boat 
for  Mazatlan,  and  from  Mazatlan  rode  on  horses  or 
mules  for  three  days  in  the  mountains,  ascending  as 
high  as  ten  thousand  feet  above  the  sea.     In  his  letter  he 

3 


4  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

referred  in  a  matter-of-fact  way  to  mozos  (guides), 
saddle-animals,  pack-mules,  army-saddles,  rifles,  fishing- 
tackle  and  other  attractive  impedimenta, —  to  sleeping  on 
pine  boughs  by  the  camp-fire,  to  the  delicious  night 
air  of  the  sierra,  and  to  the  delectable  dishes  prepared 
by  the  aforesaid  mozos,  who  from  all  accounts  were 
ubiquitous  and  useful  persons. 

My  friend  then  went  on  to  prescribe  the  route  by 
which  I  should  journey  to  this  mysterious  silver  mine, 
which  lay  concealed  in  a  remote  and  beautiful  valley, 
in  the  heart  of  the  Sierra  Madre.  It  seemed  that  I  must 
approach  it  from  the  opposite  direction,  for  he  was  then 
on  the  Pacific  coast  and  I  on  the  Atlantic,  with  the  moun- 
tains between  us.  I  was  to  proceed  immediately  to 
Tennessee  and  there  join  a  young  Southern  mining  man, 
who  after  visiting  his  home  was  about  to  return  to  the 
famous  mine  La  Candelaria,  in  San  Dimas,  Durango  — 
about  a  day's  ride  from  my  destination. 

My  friend  also  advised  me  as  to  my  outfit,  which  in- 
cluded a  khaki  riding-suit,  a  pair  of  high  laced  boots, 
a  pair  of  wading-boots,  heavy  and  thin  underwear,  sev- 
eral suits  of  overalls,  woolen  gloves,  army  blankets,  a 
cloth  cap,  a  rifle,  a  revolver,  fishing-rod  and  flies,  and 
a  medicine-kit.  All  these  I  secured  and  the  clothing  and 
blankets  I  packed  in  a  pair  of  horse-hide  trunks,  weigh- 
ing about  150  pounds  each.  These  proved  useful 
throughout  my  journeys  in  IMexico,  making  a  fair  load 
for  a  pack-animal,  and  being  easily  adjusted  and  not 
hard  on  a  mule's  back.  A  well-chosen  if  abbreviated 
library  of  favorite  authors,  while  it  added  to  the  rail- 
road charge  for  excess  baggage,  proved  an  inestimable 
solace,  not  only  during  the  year  I  passed  in  the  isolated 
mining  region,  but  throughout  my  five  years'  stay  in 
Mexico. 


Mexican  niozu 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  7 

I  found  my  traveling  companion  an  alert,  able  and 
kindly  young  Southerner,  and  after  a  few  days'  delight- 
ful hospitality  in  both  Tennessee  and  Georgia,  where  he 
had  numerous  farewell  visits  to  make  and  where  he  in- 
sisted on  my  accompanying  him,  we  proceeded  via  New 
Orleans  to  Eagle  Pass,  crossed  the  Rio  Grande  to  Ciudad 
Porfirio  Diaz,  and  went  from  there  by  rail  across  the 
northern  State  of  Coahuila  and  a  strip  of  Zacatecas  to 
the  junction  city  of  Torreon,  and  thence  to  Durango, 
a  fine  city  of  about  32,000  inhabitants,  the  capital  of  the 
state  of  the  same  name,  and  situated  at  the  foot  of  the 
eastern  slope  of  the  Sierra  Madre. 

There  were  numbers  of  English-speaking  men  on  the 
train,  several  being  Americans,  all  of  whom  were  re- 
turning to  the  mines.  The  concensus  of  opinion  seemed 
to  be  that  Mexicans  did  not  like  Americans,  and  my 
companion,  whom  I  now  addressed,  at  his  request,  as 
Bob,  shared  this  opinion.  My  upbringing  in  cosmopoli- 
tan California  had  made  me  distinctly  hopeful  as  to 
human  friendliness,  and  while  I  listened  to  what  was 
said,  I  kept  my  mind  open  for  actual  experience.  I  had 
known  many  Alexicans  in  California,  and  I  fancied  the 
same  kindly  nature  I  had  recognized  in  them  would  be 
found  in  their  cousins  across  the  border. 

As  yet  I  scarcely  could  believe  that  I  was  in  the  land 
of  Heart's  Desire.  The  country  was  flat  and  uninter- 
esting, not  unlike  New  Mexico  and  Arizona,  as  seen  from 
the  car  windows.  English  was  spoken  by  my  fellow- 
passengers;  and,  what  was  even  more  familiar,  it  often 
was  employed  in  disparagement  of  Mexico  and  the 
Mexicans.  Fault-finding  is  natural  to  the  English  race. 
When  I  inquired  why  they  were  returning  to  Mexico, 
they  related  fabulous  tales  of  wealth  and  adventure  that 
were  quite  past  belief.     I  decided  that  I  would  believe 


8  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

only  what  I  saw,  and  I  venture  to  counsel  the  reader, 
when  visiting  a  foreign  land,  to  do  likewise. 

At  the  railroad  station  in  Durango  we  hired  a  coach 
drawn  by  a  pair  of  sleek,  black  mules,  and  after  turning 
our  luggage  over  to  a  couple  of  cargadorcs  or  porters, 
drove  to  the  hotel,  where  we  were  lodged  in  a  spacious, 
sunny  room,  with  French  windows  opening  on  the  street, 
red-tiled  floors,  and  three  single  iron  beds  placed  in 
a  row ;  the  apartment  having  been  retained  by  a  Mexican 
associate  of  Bob's,  who  was  to  join  our  cavalcade  and 
who  now  occupied  one  of  the  beds.  Bob  said  the  first 
thing  to  do  was  to  go  for  a  bath  and  accordingly  led  the 
way  to  the  hotel  entrance,  where  the  coach  was  waiting 
for  us.  We  got  in,  the  coachman  lashed  the  sleek  mules 
into  a  gallop,  and  we  set  out  for  the  baths  of  "  las 
Canoas,"  which  are  housed  in  a  long,  low,  white  build- 
ing, about  ten-minutes'  drive  from  the  center  of  the  city. 
The  proprietor,  a  portly,  benign-looking  man,  who  was 
seated  in  the  porch,  greeted  Bob  affably.  He  then  called 
a  mozo  (this  term  is  generally  applied  throughout  Mex- 
ico to  a  male  servant),  and  the  latter  led  us  to  a  large 
room,  with  a  window  opening  into  a  garden,  where  we 
could  see  orange  trees  and  flowers.  In  the  center  of 
the  room  there  was  a  huge  tank,  perhaps  eight  feet 
square  and  four  feet  deep,  empty  and  spotlessly  clean, 
with  steps  leading  down  to  the  bottom.  The  mozo 
brought  fresh  straw  mats,  two  large  cotton  sheets,  rough 
towels,  a  little  toilet  glass  with  fittings,  soap  and  vacate 
(fiber),  which  does  service  as  a  sponge.  The  soap  and 
zacate  were  in  small,  tin  dishes  which  float  on  the  water, 
and  are  thus  near  at  hand  when  required.  He  next 
pulled  out  a  wooden  plug  in  the  side  of  the  tank  and  a 
torrent  of  water  gushed  in,  filling  the  tank  to  the  height 
of  a  man's  waist  ere  we  could  divest  ourselves  of  our 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  9 

clothing.  Bob  jumped  in  without  ado ;  but  I  paused  on 
the  top  step  and  dipped  in  a  wary  toe  to  try  the  water. 
Finding  it  only  a  trifle  cooler  than  body  temperature,  I 
too  made  the  plunge  and  reveled  in  the  soft,  greenish- 
clear  water,  which  carries  iron  and  sulphur.  All  the 
cities  of  Mexico  are  favored  with  fine  baths,  but  for 
delightful  water  and  arrangements  I  commend  "  las 
Canoas  "  of  Durango. 

Returning  to  our  hotel,  where  the  small  mules  drew 
us  at  a  gallop,  we  were  in  an  excellent  mood  for  dinner ; 
and  while  it  was  good  enough  and  everything  deliciously 
flavored,  I  was  amazed  at  the  numberless  meat  courses 
and  the  great  lack  of  vegetables.  First  came  a  soup, 
then  rice  with  a  meaty  flavor,  this  being  called  "  dry 
soup,"  next  eggs  in  any  style  one  preferred,  and  then 
meat,  meat,  meat,  with  different  colored  gravies  and 
well-cooked,  to  be  sure,  but  scarcely  what  one  would 
expect  in  a  hot  climate  and  in  the  midst  of  prolific  vege- 
tation. Dinner  ended  with  delicious  frijolcs  (black 
beans),  coffee,  a  sweet,  and,  I  am  glad  to  record,  oranges 
and  bananas. 

The  next  day  being  Sunday,  we  went  to  the  bull-fight. 
I  was  not  consulted,  our  seats,  like  our  beds,  having  been 
engaged  weeks  ago  by  this  same  obliging  but  disappear- 
ing friend  of  Bob's,  who  never  retired  until  after  we 
were  asleep,  nor  awoke  until  long  after  we  had  arisen. 
I  finally  met  him  and  was  glad  to  thank  him  for  his 
forethought  and  careful  arrangement  for  our  comfort; 
but  beyonil  one  or  two  fleeting  conversations,  our  ac- 
quaintance progressed  no  further.  Bob  excused  his 
constant  absence  by  explaining  that  he  was  a  calavera 
(sport). 

And  now  for  my  first  bull-fight :  it  was  a  strong,  fierce, 
tense  experience  that  comes  back  as  vividly  to-day  as  it 


10  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

did  —  say  the  week  after.  It  took  me  quite  a  week  to 
recover  a  normal  sense  of  discrimination.  The  Durango 
plaza  was  large  and  massively  built.  When  we  entered 
we  found  an  immense  crowd  of  people,  from  every 
social  grade;  the  aristocrats,  elegantly  attired,  agreeable 
in  looks  and  manner,  filled  the  boxes ;  the  occupants  of 
the  first-class  benches,  characterized  as  la  Somhra,  or 
shady  side,  included  hosts  of  Americans  and  Europeans; 
while  the  multitude  thronged  the  sunny  side  of  the  arena 
called  el  Sol,  and  it  was  el  sol  indeed  with  all  the  blaze 
of  a  cloudless  afternoon.  And  there,  beneath  the  in- 
tense blue  of  the  Mexican  heavens,  the  sport  that  in 
more  senses  than  one  is  tragedy  was  enacted.  The  band 
struck  up  "  El  Toreador,"  the  pageant  entered,  and  the 
fight  began.  A  savage  little  black  Mexican  bull  made 
his  entrance,  flaunting  a  gaudy  ribbon  from  the  tiny 
steel  dart  jabbed  into  his  shoulder  as  he  cleared  the  gate. 
The  picadorcs  on  their  wretched,  blindfolded  hacks 
began  prodding  him  with  lances.  With  his  sharp  horns 
he  caught  one  of  the  shambling  horses  and  disem- 
boweled him.  The  picadores  retired  and  the  ba)id- 
crillcros  performed  graceful  and  daring  acts,  luring  the 
bull  to  charge,  then  lightly  swerving,  to  avoid  his  on- 
slaught, and  planting  the  bandcrillos  in  his  neck  as  he 
lurched  past.  The  multitude  in  el  Sol,  highly  pleased, 
began  shouting.  The  little  bull  made  a  swift  rush, 
sprang  into  the  air,  all  feet  off  the  ground,  got  his  fore- 
legs over  the  first  paling  —  at  least  five  feet  high,  and 
plunged  over  it  into  the  narrow  lane  between  it  and  the 
audience,  scattering  the  attendants  in  every  direction. 
But  he  was  driven  back  into  the  ring,  and  there  he 
received  the  death-thrust  from  the  sword  of  the  matador, 
the  star  of  the  performance.  A  spike-team  of  white 
mules  adorned  with  ribbons  and  bells  then  dashed  in  and 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  ii 

as  rapidly  out  again,  drawing  the  dead  bull.  The  music 
struck  up,  another  bull  sprang  into  the  arena,  and  the 
show  went  on.  Seven  bulls  were  killed.  I  can  describe 
my  state  only  as  one  of  dazed  excitement.  What  hap- 
pened after  we  quitted  the  bull-ring  I  cannot  recall.  I 
felt  exhausted  and  retired  early,  only  to  wake  repeatedly 
with  a  sense  of  nightmare.  The  next  morning,  on  wak- 
ing, I  had  much  difficulty  in  realizing  that  the  scenes  of 
the  previous  day  were  not  a  dream. 

Bob  now  devoted  himself  to  securing  a  mozo  and 
animals  for  our  journey.  The  friend,  it  seemed,  could 
not  tear  himself  away  from  the  charming  night-life  of 
Durango ;  and  while  he  continued  to  occupy  his  bed  by 
day,  I  did  not  again  meet  him,  clothed  and  in  his  right 
mind,  so  to  speak.  I  cherish  memories,  however,  of 
an  affable  and  obliging  man.  Our  preparations  for  the 
mountains  I  found  intensely  interesting.  In  the  first 
place  I  must  buy  a  mule  for  myself.  Then  my  Cali- 
fornia friend,  who  will  figure  in  these  pages  as  Don 
Alfredo,  that  being  his  name  in  the  Mexican  mining 
regions,  had  commissioned  Bob  to  purchase  for  him  the 
best  saddle-mule  he  could  find,  the  Durango  mules  being 
famed  for  their  easy  pace.  Bob,  who  was  a  judge  of 
mules,  secured  a  prize  for  $ioo  Mexican  money.  She 
was  coal-black,  slender  as  a  thoroughbred,  with  an 
easy  trot,  a  good  running  gait,  and  as  gentle  as  the 
proverbial  kitten.  Her  name  w-as  "  Queen."  The  beast 
I  chose  was  the  next  best  to  be  had  in  the  market.  She 
was  fairly  good-looking,  dark  brown  in  color,  and  had  an 
excellent  gait,  half-pace,  half-singlefoot.  She  cost  me 
$70  Mexican  money.  She  had  no  name,  it  appeared,  and 
though  I  called  her  "  Rhea,"  and  tried  to  cultivate  her 
friendship,  she  seemed  endowed  with  native  distrust 
of  the  "  Gringo  " ;   and  while   she  carried  me  patiently 


12  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

for  a  year,  she  was  as  reserved  at  parting  as  when  I 
first  acquired  her.  These  two  mules  were  as  unhkc  in 
character  as  any  two  human  beings  could  possibly  be. 
Bob  now  engaged  as  mozo  a  somewhat  saturnine-looking 
party,  who  was  reputed  to  be  a  good  guide,  a  mule  for 
the  mozo  to  ride,  another  to  carry  our  grub-box  and 
blankets;  and  after  purchasing  our  provisions  and  neces- 
sary cooking  outfit,  we  were  at  last  prepared  to  invade 
the  fastnesses  of  the  impregnable  Sierras,  which  loomed 
purple  in  the  distance,  the  white  clouds  floating  about 
their  summits,  beyond  which  lay  mystery  and  adventure. 

Have  you  ever  ridden  over  the  mountains  of  Mexico 
on  a  mule?  If  not  there  is  joy  before  you  —  provided 
that  you  love  the  mountains,  and  long  days  of  brilliant 
sunshine,  and  cloudless,  starlit  nights.  It  goes  without 
saying  that  the  time  for  such  a  ride  is  the  dry  season, 
which  begins  in  October  and  with  few  variations  lasts 
until  the  ensuing  May. 

Choose  a  mule  by  all  means  —  a  mare  makes  the  best 
saddle-animal  —  and  after  you  have  ridden  her  a  day,  you 
will  feel  absolute  confidence  in  the  creature.  A  Mexican 
mule  takes  no  chances.  She  springs  lightly  over  a 
heap  of  dead  leaves  on  the  trail,  rather  than  risk  a  pos- 
sibly concealed  pitfall,  and  leaps  from  one  boulder  to 
another  with  the  agility  of  a  cat.  If  overtaken  by  dark- 
ness, you  may  drop  your  bridle-rein  on  your  mule's  neck, 
and  be  perfectly  secure  in  her  caution  and  judgment. 
With  her  nose  close  to  the  narrow  and  often  dangerous 
trail,  that  you  no  longer  see,  she  will  follow  it  as  un- 
erringly as  a  dog  follows  the  scent. 

In  the  mountains,  the  heat  is  seldom  oppressive  save  at 
midday.  Then  your  mozo  finds  a  cool  spot,  near  a 
stream  if  possible,  for  your  luncheon  and  siesta.  Your 
mozo  is  nearly  always  a  cheerful,  obliging  individual,  of 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  13 

sanguine  temperament,  trained  to  servitude  and  hard- 
ship, expecting  Httle,  yet  accepting  without  effusiveness 
any  little  luxuries  you  may  care  to  bestow.  After  a  long 
day's  ride,  he  unsaddles  the  animals,  has  a  fire  blazing 
in  a  jiffy,  and  cooks  your  supper;  while  you  lie  on  the 
ground  and  stretch  your  tired  legs,  inhaling  the  grateful 
fumes  of  meat  on  the  coals.  You  are  ravenous,  and  for 
the  moment  supper  is  of  more  importance  than  anything 
else  in  life.  If  you  have  provided  well,  you  are  soon 
devouring  a  steak,  broiled  as  only  a  mozo  can  broil,  hot 
tortillas  (corn  cakes),  frijoles  (beans)  and  perhaps 
tamalcs.  Then  comes  a  steaming  cup  of  black  coffee, 
and  with  pipe  or  cigarro  for  company,  you  roll  yourself 
in  your  blankets  and  lazily  watch  the  stars,  the  camp- 
fire, —  and  listen  to  the  wind  in  the  trees  until  —  you 
stretch  yourself  luxuriously  with  the  feeling  that  you 
have  been  asleep  and  behold  your  mozo  calmly  prepar- 
ing breakfast,  while  the  animals,  near  at  hand,  are  munch- 
ing their  corn.  It  is  four  o'clock.  You  have  slept  eight 
solid  hours  and  must  be  off  at  the  crack  of  dawn,  in 
order  that  you  may  rest  when  the  heat  comes.  You 
may  have  rolled  in,  more  tired  than  ever  before  in  your 
life.  You  awake,  rested  in  every  limb,  feeling  that  you 
could  run,  leap,  sing  —  so  wonderful  is  this  mountain 
air. 

Then  too  —  the  pine  woods,  through  which  you  ride 
for  hours,  frequently  for  days  —  there  is  magic  in  their 
balm  for  weary  bodies  and  tired  nerves.  You  will  try 
to  analyze  the  peculiar  charm  that  pervades  your  entire 
journey.  Perhaps  it  partly  lies  in  the  endless  vista  of 
mountains  beyond,  in  the  feeling  that  this  free  existence 
must  go  on  forever.  You  gain  a  ciimhre  or  summit,  ten 
thousand  feet  above  sea  level,  and  gazing  over  miles  of 
forest  and   meadow,   you  behold   another  mountain,   its 


14  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

crest  enveloped  in  white  mist,  and  you  know  that  to- 
morrow you  will  tread  its  height.  When  it  is  gained, 
there  are  still  more  mountains  before  you,  more  beautiful 
in  contour  and  color,  and  the  charm  never  fails. 

You  may  ride  for  days  without  meeting  a  human  be- 
ing, but  now  and  again  you  hear  your  mozo  singing,  as 
he  follows  with  the  pack-animals,  and  you  are  never 
lonesome.  Should  you  pass  a  rancho,  you  will  find  there 
fresh  eggs,  milk  and  delicious  cheese  and  a  roof  for  the 
night  if  you  desire.  The  house  and  all  it  contains  are  at 
your  service  while  you  remain,  and  you  have  a  struggle 
to  make  the  owners  accept  a  cent  in  return.  Though 
almost  invariably  poor,  these  mountain  folk  have  hos- 
pitality bred  in  the  bone  and  a  gentle,  innate  courtesy. 
I  often  found  that  a  gift  of  coffee,  tobacco,  sugar  and 
such  luxuries  were  more  acceptable  and  less  mortifying 
to  them  than  money.  It  seemed  more  like  an  exchange 
of  kindnesses. 

But  mountain  journeys,  like  all  pleasant  experiences, 
must  end.  Perhaps  your  goal  is  some  ancient  Spanish 
mine,  long  since  abandoned,  from  which  fabulous  wealth 
was  taken  centuries  ago,  and  which  will  yet  make  you 
rich  beyond  your  wildest  dreams.  Such  mines  have  been 
bought  in  Mexico  for  a  song,  and  many  more  remain. 
But  whether  you  gain  a  fortune  or  not,  one  good  you 
have  had  past  losing  —  the  joy  of  long,  health-giving 
days  and  restful  nights ;  and  their  memory  will  remain 
with  you  and  haunt  you,  till  some  fine  day  will  see  you 
again  in  the  saddle,  astride  your  nimble  mule,  bound 
for  the  mountain  heights  of  sunny  Mexico. 

The  inevitable  delays  which  always  attend  the  be- 
ginning of  a  journey  in  Mexico  were  not  lacking  in  Du- 
rango,  and  it  was  ten  o'clock  before  we  were  ready  to 
start.     Finally  our  mozo  appeared  with  his  pack-mule. 


detiiiig  bu|)pcr 


Dun  Allrcdo 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  17 

the  grub-box  and  light  traveHng  baggage  were  loaded 
and  lashed  in  place  with  rawhide  reatas  or  ropes,  and 
Bob,  mounted  on  the  black  mule,  headed  our  cavalcade, 
with  myself  next  and  the  mozo  and  pack-animal  bring- 
ing up  the  rear. 

The  ascent  began  at  the  outskirts  of  the  city,  where 
the  foot-hills  led  up  gradually  to  the  mountains.  The 
beginning  of  the  ride  was  hot  and  dusty,  and  by  noon 
the  heat  was  intense.  At  one  o'clock  we  crossed  a  shal- 
low barranca  with  a  sluggish  stream,  and  Bob  called  a 
halt  for  luncheon.  As  there  was  no  shade,  we  sat  on 
the  banks  of  the  stream  in  the  broiling  sun,  while  the 
mozo  started  a  fire,  and  cutting  off  a  huge  chunk  of  beef, 
he  impaled  it  on  a  pointed  stake  and  began  singeing  it 
in  the  flames.  I  was  just  owning  to  an  inward  feeling 
of  disappointment  at  the  inept  culinary  efforts  of  the 
mozo,  when  Bob  began  openly  to  express  his  disap- 
proval, and  declared  that  he  himself  could  cook  far 
better.  He  accordingly  produced  some  bacon  and  a 
frying-pan,  and  also  brewed  some  excellent  coffee. 
With  the  addition  of  rolls  we  made  a  meal,  while  the 
mozo,  left  to  his  own  devices,  devoured  the  beef  to  the 
last  morsel.  His  bloodshot  eye  and  sullen  manner  now 
excited  Bob's  suspicion,  and  coming  on  him  unexpectedly, 
while  feeding  the  mules,  he  found  him  drinking  mescal 
from  a  quart  bottle.  As  it  was  nearly  empty,  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain  — 
and  this  he  proved.  A  more  surly  dog  I  never  en- 
countered ;  indeed  all  the  other  mozos  I  subsequently 
knew  were  quite  up  to  what  I  had  heard  of  them  in 
excellence. 

In  mountain  travel,  distances  are  not  calculated  in 
miles  but  in  hours  or  days,  this  resulting  in  considerable 
vagueness  as  to  the  chance  of  arriving  anywhere.     From 


i8  THE  MAN  WHO  LHvES  MEXICO 

the  barranca  to  the  rancho  where  we  intended  to  sleep 
that  night  was,  according  to  the  mozo,  a  matter  of  four 
hours.  At  the  expiration  of  four  hours,  however,  no 
rancho  was  in  sight,  and  we  rode  for  two  hours  more 
before  we  arrived,  it  being  then  nearly  eight  o'clock. 
This  indefiniteness  as  to  time  and  distance,  at  first  ex- 
asperating, finally  becomes  a  matter  of  course ;  and  I 
may  say  I  have  never  yet  arrived  at  any  place  in  the 
mountains  at  the  time  the  mozo  predicted. 

The  owner  of  the  rancho  was  a  fat,  good-natured 
man,  who  received  us  pleasantly,  assured  us  his  house 
was  ours,  and  invited  us  to  join  him  at  supper.  We 
were  glad  enough  to  avail  ourselves  of  his  hospitality 
and  though  his  beds  were  without  springs  we  were 
asleep  almost  as  soon  as  our  heads  touched  the  pillows, 
which  were  of  wool  and  stuffed  as  hard  as  rocks.  The 
first  day  of  a  journey  is  always  trying  and  after  nine 
hours  in  the  saddle  I  was  weary  to  exhaustion.  To  my 
surprise  I  awoke  in  the  morning  without  a  particle  of 
fatigue  or  soreness,  and  this  has  always  been  my  ex- 
perience in  the  mountains. 

On  this,  our  second  day,  we  made  an  early  start.  We 
had  a  long  ride  ahead,  to  make  a  favorable  camp  for  the 
night,  and  Bob  set  the  pace  at  a  spanking  trot.  I  had 
slung  my  rifle  at  one  side  of  my  saddle  and  my  fishing 
rod  at  the  other,  and  felt  rather  pleased  with  my  outfit ; 
but  after  we  had  ridden  three  hours,  during  which  we 
had  made  good  headway,  I  discovered  that  my  fishing 
rod  had  become  loosed  from  its  moorings  and  disap- 
peared. It  was  a  fine,  jointed  rod  and  I  did  not  want 
to  lose  it ;  so  shouting  to  Bob  that  I  would  soon  over- 
take him,  I  turned  my  mule  about  and  began  racing  back 
over  the  trail ;  but  not  a  sign  of  the  rod  did  I  see.  The 
thought  that  every  moment  I  was  putting  a  greater  dis- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  19 

tance  between  the  others  and  myself  was  not  comforting, 
especially  as  I  knew  nothing  of  the  country  and  did  not 
speak  enough  Spanish  to  ask  a  direction  even  if  I  met  a 
living  soul,  which  I  did  not.  Giving  up  the  search  I 
started  to  overtake  Bob  and  the  mozo,  and  now  I  ob- 
served, for  the  first  time,  that  frequently  the  trail  forked, 
so  that  I  was  in  doubt  which  one  to  follow.  Fortunately 
no  other  animals  had  passed  since  our  own  and  I  was 
able  to  make  out  the  hoof-marks  in  the  trail  and  after 
two  hours'  hard  riding  I  overtook  them.  A  year  later, 
while  paying  a  visit  to  a  mine  owned  by  Americans,  the 
storekeeper  handed  me  a  note  scrawled  on  a  piece  of 
wrapping  paper,  and  addressed  to  "  Sehor  Americano," 
asking  if  by  any  chance  it  was  for  me.  It  ran  as  follows : 
"  I  found  on  the  Durango  trail  a  bag  and  it  had  four 
yellow  sticks  and  a  gun-wiper ;  you  can  stop  at  my 
rancho  when  you  go  back  and  get  it  by  paying  for  the 
same."  There  was  no  signature,  and  while  the  store- 
keeper, who  was  a  IMexican,  knew  the  man  and  told 
me  where  his  rancho  was,  he  did  not  know  his  name  or 
nationality, —  he  asserted,  however,  that  he  was  an  ex- 
tranjero  (foreigner).  Another  year  passed,  and  on  my 
way  out  from  the  mines  I  passed  by  the  rancho  and  in- 
quired for  the  extranjero.  The  place  was  occupied  by 
Mexicans,  and  to  all  my  inquiries  they  placidly  answered 
"  Quien  sahcf"  I  only  learned  that  he  had  gone  away 
and  he  doubtless  took  the  "  four  yellow  sticks  and  the 
gun-wiper  "  with  him. 

The  second  night  shortly  after  sundown  we  reached 
a  fine  camping  place  in  the  pines,  beside  a  clear  stream. 
The  mozo,  who  was  suffering  the  aftermath  of  his  spree, 
was  still  in  a  partial  stupor.  Bob,  therefore,  constituted 
himself  chef  once  more,  while  he  set  the  mozo  to  col- 
lecting dry  logs  for  the  night  fire.     We  were  now  at  an 


20  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

altitude  of  about  seven  thousand  feet  and  at  this  height 
the  air  cools  with  great  rapidity  after  sunset.  After 
supper  Bob  piled  some  big  logs  on  the  fire  and  then 
showed  me  how  to  make  my  bed ;  in  this  operation  every 
available  article  is  utilized,  including  saddle  and  saddle- 
cloths. The  mules  after  eating  their  corn,  were  hobbled 
and  allowed  to  graze  at  will,  and  we  were  glad  to  crawl 
into  our  beds  and  go  to  sleep. 

About  midnight  I  was  awakened  by  the  cold,  which,  de- 
spite the  fire,  was  intense.  There  was  no  wind,  and  the 
heavens  were  bright  with  enormous  stars,  that  seemed 
very  near,  with  a  subsidiary  spangling  of  small  stars 
that  made  one  think  of  diamond  dust.  Notwithstanding 
my  army  blankets  and  a  thick  rug  I  was  shaking  with 
the  cold  and  Bob,  waking  at  the  same  instant,  proposed 
that  we  move  our  beds  together  and  thus  obtain  double 
covering  from  our  blankets.  This  we  did,  and  with  the 
additional  warmth  of  our  bodies  we  were  soon  comfort- 
able again  and  slept  soundly.  The  mozo,  who  had  only 
his  ordinary  zarape  or  blanket,  had  wrapped  it  about  his 
head  and  mouth,  and  was  crouching  over  the  fire. 

The  next  day  we  descended  several  thousand  feet  and 
found  the  valley  intensely  hot.  Bob  had  been  at  con- 
siderable tension  from  the  beginning  of  our  journe}^, 
and  the  hot  weather  together  with  the  sullen  mozo  were 
irritating  him  greatly.  While  our  acquaintance  had 
been  too  brief  for  an  exchange  of  confidences,  I  gathered 
that  he  held  a  position  of  trust  at  the  mines,  and  that 
after  a  prolonged  absence,  due  partly  to  previous  illness, 
he  was  anxious  to  be  again  at  his  post.  As  he  neared  his 
destination  his  anxiety  increased.  In  his  early  twenties, 
of  Southern  family  and  with  the  nervous,  eager  temper 
imparted  by  Celtic  race,  very  ambitious  and  excited  by 
the  lure  of  the  mines,  at  the  period  when  a  young  man's 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  21 

blood  courses  swiftly,  he  had  been  drawn  into  the  fever- 
ish business  until  it  wholly  possessed  him. 

I  had  never  before  realized  the  relentless  cruelty  of 
this  pursuit  of  gold  —  or  rather  of  silver,  which  is  twice 
as  bad,  because  you  must  obtain  twice  as  much.  True, 
I  was  also  bound  for  the  mines ;  but,  whether  it  be  for 
good  or  ill,  the  pursuit  of  gold  has  ever  failed  to  absorb 
my  attention  for  long.  Sometimes  it  seems  a  defect  of 
character,  but  I  try  to  analyze  it  in  vain.  Not  that  I 
do  not  want  gold  and  what  gold  can  buy;  but  life  is  so 
rich,  so  full,  so  insistent  —  and  gold  is  so  elusive !  It  is 
as  though  life  were  forever  pressing,  full-handed,  its 
treasure  upon  us  —  the  beauty  of  the  world,  love,  friend- 
ship ;  while  gold,  which  offers  itself  grudgingly,  can  not 
confer  any  of  the  gifts  that  life  so  freely  bestows. 

I  could  not  but  feel  sad  about  Bob,  so  young  and 
generous,  with  all  his  bright  day-dreams  depending  on 
one  thing  only  —  the  acquisition  of  gold.  For  him  the 
purple,  distant  mountains  had  no  meaning,  save  that 
perhaps  they  concealed  rich  veins  of  ore.  The  clear, 
leaping  streams  were  good  for  one  thing  alone  —  to  turn 
a  turbine  wheel  in  an  ore  mill.  The  sunset  had  no 
charm  —  for  it  came  too  soon,  forcing  us  into  camp 
when  he  would  be  farther  on  the  way.  The  boy  fretted 
and  fumed  and  goaded  the  ugly  mozo  into  a  fury,  and 
the  latter,  taking  it  out  on  the  pack-mule,  lashed  the 
poor  beast  until  she  dropped  in  her  tracks  and  refused 
to  get  up  again.  So  here  we  were  in  a  pretty  fix, —  with 
mule  and  grub-box  on  the  ground. 

Fortunately  at  this  moment  we  heard  a  whistle  and 
then  the  sound  of  hoofs  and  a  ranchman  appeared, 
mounted  on  a  stocky  roan  horse  with  a  thick,  long  black 
mane  and  tail.  Bob  immediately  asked  him  if  he  wanted 
to  sell.     The  ranchman  said  he  did  not,  but  so  insistent 


22  THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO 

was  Bob  and  so  tempting  the  roll  of  money  he  flourished 
before  the  man's  eyes,  the  latter  began  to  hesitate  and 
finally  said  he  would  take  seventy  dollars  for  the  horse, 
which  Bob  promptly  counted  out  and  gave  him.  The 
mozo's  saddle  was  now  transferred  to  the  roan,  the  grub- 
box  and  blankets  to  the  other  mule,  and  the  pack-mule, 
which  still  lay  on  the  ground,  was  commended  to  the 
care  of  the  ranchman,  whose  rancho  was  not  far  off,  and 
who  promised  to  get  the  tired  beast  on  its  feet  and  care 
for  it  until  the  mozo  should  return  and  claim  it.  Bob 
seemed  highly  pleased  with  his  new  purchase.  He  had 
the  Southerner's  love  of  horse-flesh,  and  he  now  recalled 
the  old  saying  about  the  staying  powers  of  a  roan  or  a 
gray.  This  beast  had  an  ugly  mouth,  and  when  the 
mozo  mounted  him  he  stood  up  on  his  hind  legs  and 
pawed  the  air.  It  was  now  the  mozo's  turn  to  be  pleased 
and  the  result  of  this  horse  trade  was  an  improvement 
in  the  spirits  of  the  entire  party. 

Bob  now  proposed  that  as  we  had  lost  so  much  time 
and  it  was  desirable  we  should  make  a  rancho  for  the 
night,  we  should  content  ourselves  with  a  handful  of 
provender  from  the  grub-box  and  push  on.  He  said 
we  had  still  a  long  ride  to  the  rancho,  and  I  readily 
acquiesced.  As  for  the  mozo,  he  was  as  pleased  with  the 
fiery  little  roan  as  a  child  with  a  toy ;  and  if  he  ate  any- 
thing between  breakfast  and  supper  I  did  n't  see  him. 
Eating  seems  a  matter  of  chance  rather  than  a  regular 
system  with  a  mozo.  If  it  so  happens,  he  eats  three 
meals  a  day.  If  it  does  n't  happen,  he  bides  his  time, 
and  then  tucks  away  enough  to  make  up  for  the  meals 
he  has  missed.  I  never  heard  a  Mexican  mozo  emit  the 
slightest  complaint  about  discomfort  or  privation,  though 
I  often  have  seen  him  suffer  both. 

The  sun  went  down  and   signs  of  the   rancho  there 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  23 

were  none.  The  mozo  calmly  averred  that  it  was  "  just 
over  there,"  pointing  to  the  next  hill  ahead  of  us ;  but 
as  he  had  said  this  of  the  four  preceding  hills,  and  each 
had  presented  nothing  but  more  hills  in  perspective, 
I  began  to  think  he  knew  no  more  about  the  proximity 
of  the  rancho  than  we  did. 

We  were  anxious  to  arrive  though  it  was  to  be  our  last 
night  together,  the  rancho  lying  at  the  point  where  our 
trails  divided.  Bob  would  keep  straight  on  the  main 
trail,  arriving  at  the  Candelaria  mine  the  next  night ; 
while  I  was  to  branch  off  on  to  a  comparatively  untrav- 
eled  one,  which  should  lead  me  to  the  Huahuapan  dis- 
trict. Before  we  left  Durango,  Bob  telegraphed  his 
mine,  asking  them  to  send  a  mozo  to  the  rancho  to  act 
as  my  guide  to  Huahuapan ;  it  being  necessary  to  engage 
a  mozo  who  belonged  in  that  part  of  the  mountains  and 
who  knew  the  route  to  this  mysterious  valley  which  was 
my  destination. 

It  was  now  quite  dark  and  I  was  beginning  to  fear  we 
had  missed  the  trail,  when  on  crossing  another  low  hill 
we  saw  a  blazing  fire  straight  ahead  and  heard  a  most 
amazing  sound ;  it  was  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the 
squeaking  of  a  fiddle  accompanied  by  the  monotonous 
beating  of  a  drum.  We  could  now  distinguish  the  low 
outline  of  buildings  and  several  figures  about  the  fire. 
It  is  the  custom  in  these  parts  to  build  a  bonfire  at  night 
in  the  corral  before  the  ranch-house ;  and  it  is  not  at 
all  a  bad  custom,  affording  as  it  does  an  opportunity  to 
take  the  fresh  air  and  enjoy  the  blaze  at  the  same  time. 

Arriving  at  the  fire,  we  learned  that  the  owner  of  the 
rancho  was  away  on  a  journey,  and  the  place  was  in 
charge  of  the  Indian  p cones.  The  fiddler,  it  seemed,  was 
a  stray  nomad  who  had  stopped  over  night,  and  was 
doubtless  paying  for  his  entertainment  with  his  tunes. 


24  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

The  drum,  the  peones  told  us,  had  been  left  at  the 
rancho,  quien  sabe  how,  why,  or  by  whom,  and  one  of 
their  number  had  the  happy  inspiration  of  beating  it  to 
accompany  the  fiddler.  With  the  equanimity  that  ob- 
tains in  Mexico,  neither  of  the  performers  stopped  for 
one  moment  on  our  account ;  and  the  effect  produced 
by  the  weird  tune  and  the  incessant,  dull  note  of  the 
drum  was  strange  and  savage.  Add  to  this  the  motion- 
less forms  of  the  other  peones  and  the  huge  wavering 
shadows  cast  by  the  fire,  and  you  have  a  strange  scene, 
which  was  not  lessened  by  the  arrival,  from  out  the 
darkness,  of  our  cavalcade. 

I  had  already  begun  to  have  the  experience  of  wonder- 
ing whether  anything  really  was  strange  after  all ;  and 
while  Mexico  in  general  is  conducive  to  this,  the  moun- 
tains are  especially  so.  I  believe  that  these  mountain 
people  are  chastened  and  humbled  by  the  stupendous  ex- 
pressions of  nature  which  always  surround  them.  The 
peones,  while  perfectly  apathetic  to  us,  made  no  objec- 
tion to  our  cooking  our  meal  at  the  fire  and  sleeping  in 
a  small,  dungeon-like  outhouse.  The  main  dwelling  was 
locked  and  barred  and  not  to  be  opened  on  any  account 
until  the  master's  return. 

The  serious  thing  was  the  failure  of  my  mozo  to  put 
in  an  appearance,  the  only  possible  explanation  being 
that  Bob's  wire  did  not  go  through ;  but  this  did  not 
seem  nearly  so  strange  to  me  as  that  it  should  have  gone 
through.  There  was  something  incredible  in  the  thought 
of  telegraph  wires  crossing  those  stupendous  mountains ; 
and  while  Bob  assured  me  that  they  did  so,  I  extracted 
from  him  the  admission  that  the  wires  were  down  a 
good  part  of  the  time  and  that  they  probably  were 
down  now. 

He  also  told  me  a  diverting  if  somewhat  disturbing 


A  long  journey 


Hunting  in   I  'in  : 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  27 

tale  about  the  mails.  He  said  the  mail  bag  was  carried 
by  special  mozos,  between  the  mines  and  the  nearest  post- 
offices,  which  were  usually  the  trivial  distance  of  from 
two  to  three  days'  journey.  The  mozo  went  on  foot. 
Why?  Because  he  knew  short  cuts  that  no  mule  could 
travel.  On  mule-back  it  would  take  twice  as  long.  Not 
many  months  since,  Bob  said,  he  despatched  the  mail 
mozo  with  a  large  batch  of  correspondence,  and  as  he 
was  gone  much  longer  than  he  should  be,  he  sent  an- 
other mozo  to  look  for  him.  The  second  mozo  came 
across  the  first,  asleep  in  the  woods  and  very  drunk. 
Beside  him  was  the  rifled  mail-bag  with  the  remains  of 
letters  he  had  opened,  not  apparently  with  justifiable 
intent.  Only  a  small  portion  of  the  letters  were  there, 
however,  and  it  developed  that,  growing  tired  of  his  in- 
nocent pastime,  he  had  thrown  the  balance  into  the 
river.  I  must  add  in  justice  to  the  tribe  of  mozos  that 
my  letters  were  carried  by  one  for  more  than  a  year,  and 
that  I  never  missed  a  piece  of  mail  to  my  knowledge. 

While  I  was  spreading  my  blankets  on  the  dirt  floor 
of  the  small  dungeon  referred  to,  the  music  stopped. 
Presently  Bob  entered  and  remarked  that  he  had  paid 
the  fiddler  and  the  drummer  liberally  and  that  as  the 
former  said  he  knew  the  Huahuapan  trail,  he  had  en- 
gaged him  to  act  as  my  guide,  for  the  moderate  sum 
of  six  dollars.  I  begged  him  to  call  me  when  he  awoke 
the  following  morning,  so  that  I  might  take  leave  of 
him  then,  and  also  start  away  from  the  rancho  at  the 
same  time  that  he  did.  That  nothing  impressed  me  any 
longer  as  strange  or  unusual  was  indicated  by  my  not 
giving  a  second  thought  to  my  new  guide,  though  I  was 
aware  that  Bob  had  never  set  eyes  on  him  before.  The 
mountains,  I  think,  had  normalized  me  too  and  I  slept 
peacefully. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  Ride  in  the  Dark :  Misgivings  :  The  Fiddler-Guide :  Wolf- 
Face:  No  Stop  for  Dinner:  Beautiful  Mountain  Scenery: 
Ten  Hours  of  Suspense:  Wayside  Crosses:  Valley  of 
Huahuapan :  Reunion  with  Friends:  Work  and  Play:  Life 
in  a  Mexican  Pueblo:    A  Beautiful  Box:     A  Bad  Peon. 

I  AWOKE  to  a  sense  of  suffocation  and  of  foul  air 
charged  with  the  odors  of  mule  trappings,  sad- 
dles and  blankets,  with  a  lurking  substratum  of 
smells  that  attach  to  unventilated  rooms  which  have  been 
slept  in  by  countless  human  beings.  The  mozo  was  per- 
forming a  muffled  tattoo  on  the  door.  I  knew  his  voice 
though  his  words  were  unintelligible,  and  lighting  a 
match,  found  it  was  four  o'clock.  Bob  was  sleeping  as 
sound  as  a  log  and  I  had  to  shake  him.  The  poor  boy 
was  drugged  with  sleep  and  bad  air.  I  have  never  gotten 
over  feeling  a  sort  of  pity  for  children  and  young  people 
in  the  throes  of  sleep.  There  is  something  pitiable  in 
their  struggles  to  break  the  lethargy  that  holds  them,  and 
that  doubtless  is  a  response  to  their  nervous  and  physical 
needs. 

Bob  suddenly  roused  himself,  sprang  up  and  began 
folding  his  blankets ;  we  had  few  preparations  to  make, 
for  anticipating  a  hurried  departure,  we  had  thrown 
ourselves  down  without  removing  our  clothing,  and  with 
our  boots  on.  Opening  the  door,  we  found  the  mozo 
waiting  for  our  saddles,  and  I  discovered  that  the  mules 
were  there  too, —  that  is  I  felt  and  heard  them.  It  was 
pitch   dark,  the  only  light  being   shed   from  a  blazing 

28 


THE  MAN  WHO  LHvES  MEXICO  29 

pine-knot  held  by  a  motionless  Indian.  Bob  hurriedly 
shook  hands  and  bade  me  good-by,  promising  that  we 
should  meet  soon.  Then  he  got  on  his  mule  —  the  mozo 
was  already  in  the  saddle  —  there  was  the  quick  scurry 
of  unshod  hoofs,  and  the  party  was  swallowed  up  by 
the  black  forest. 

I  was  aware  of  further  saddling  operations  under  way, 
and  my  mule  was  dragged,  rather  than  led,  to  where  I 
was  standing.  It  seemed  ungracious  in  her,  now  that 
she  was  the  only  remaining  acquaintance  left  me,  to 
snort  and  pull  back  at  sight  of  me.  I  began  to  feel 
very  much  alone.  The  mysterious  personage  who 
brought  my  mule  had  his  neck  and  chin  muffled  in  a 
zarape  and  I  presumed  he  was  the  fiddler  who  was  to 
act  as  my  guide. 

It  occurred  to  me  that  our  grub-box  was  on  the  pack- 
mule  and  that  the  pack-mule  was  off  with  Bob.  The 
ranch-house  showed  no  light  or  sign  of  life.  I  appealed 
to  the  Indian,  who  remained  motionless  supporting  the 
torch,  and  having  no  Spanish  at  my  command,  began 
talking  to  him  in  English.  His  true  propensity  to  act  as 
caryatid  was  now  apparent,  for  apart  from  rolling  his 
eyes,  he  gave  no  evidence  of  hearing.  My  common  sense 
told  me  that  what  I  needed  was  the  Spanish  name  for 
some  article  of  food.  At  first  I  thought  in  vain.  Then 
I  recalled  California,  and  with  it  came  the  word  taniales. 
Again  his  eyes  rolled  but  now  he  shook  his  head.  This 
was  encouraging  for  he  evidently  understood.  Again  I 
thought,  and  again  recovered  a  word  —  tortillas.  Who 
that  knows  California  has  not  seen  these  round,  wafer- 
like corn-cakes?  At  this  the  Indian  came  to  life,  grunted 
something  in  the  folds  of  his  zarape,  and  shuffled  off  to 
the  ranch-house.  Returning,  he  thrust  into  my  hands 
a  clammy,  soggy  mass  which  proved  to  be  a  number  of 


30  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

huge  tortillas,  about  eight  inches  in  diameter  and  nearly 
half  an  inch  thick.  I  learned  later  that  this  variety  is 
known  as  gov  das,  the  name  deriving  from  the  adjective 
gorda,  which  means  thick  or  fat,  and  that  it  is  employed 
on  journeys.  In  my  gratitude  I  gave  the  Indian  what 
loose  silver  I  had,  and  wrapping  the  gordas  in  my  bath- 
towel,  I  stowed  them  in  my  saddle-bags,  mounted  my 
reluctant  mule,  and  motioned  the  fiddler  to  lead  the  way. 
The  latter,  who  as  yet  had  not  spoken,  got  on  his  own 
beast,  and  without  turning  his  head  said  something  that 
was  evidently  a  farewell  to  the  Indian,  who  responded. 
The  Indian's  voice,  while  monotonous,  was  not  unpleas- 
ant ;  but  the  fiddler's  voice  —  how  to  qualify  it !  Harsh, 
cracked  —  no,  it  was  canine,  between  a  snarl  and  a  whine. 
I  began  to  feel  curious  to  see  the  owner  of  that  unhuman 
voice. 

My  mule  followed  the  fiddler's  beast,  nose  to  crupper, 
for  she  was  strange  to  those  mountains  and  as  yet  there 
was  no  sign  of  dawn.  The  air  was  cool  and  delicious 
with  the  night-odors  of  the  woods,  and  as  it  dispelled 
the  poisonous  emanations  I  had  breathed  during  the 
night,  my  mind  grew  clear  and  alert.  The  consolation 
that  Nature  gives  to  men  was  now  revealed  to  me  in  an 
extraordinary  way.  I  knew  from  their  odor  that  we 
were  in  the  pines ;  their  branches  brushed  my  face,  some- 
times not  very  gently ;  again  my  knee  was  grazed  by  a 
tree-trunk,  my  mule  being  unable  in  the  dark  to  gauge 
the  required  leeway.  There  was  something  friendly 
about  those  pine  trees  and  while  I  felt  the  strangeness  of 
the  illimitable,  vast  mountains,  I  experienced  comfort  in 
being  among  those  trees,  which  were  like  the  trees  of  my 
native  land. 

I  was  eager  for  daybreak,  and  was  tempted  to  revamp 
a  certain  aged  maxim  to  the  strain,  "  A  looked-for  dawn 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  31 

never  comes."  It  came,  by  imperceptible  changes,  from 
dark  to  dusk  —  then  gray.  The  rainy  season  was  close 
at  hand  and  the  sky  was  overcast  with  rain  clouds. 
The  first  light  was  suffused  with  mist,  and  my  first  view 
of  the  fiddler  was  as  through  a  veil  of  gauze.  The  ap- 
parition revealed  to  me  was  certainly  a  strange  one.  He 
was  easily  six  feet  when  he  stood  upright.  His  mount 
was  a  small,  scrawny,  buckskin  mare,  with  a  black  wisp 
of  a  tail.  He  sat  her  with  a  forward  crouch,  and  his 
stirrups  barely  cleared  the  ground.  Even  then  he  rode 
with  a  high  stirrup,  just  resting  the  toes  of  his  huge  bare 
feet,  while  his  legs  flopped  in  unison  with  every  move 
of  his  wiry  little  mustang.  He  made  me  think  of  noth- 
ing so  much  as  a  great  wolf  on  horseback.  Then  he 
turned  his  head  clear  round,  without  swerving  his  body, 
and  looked  at  me,  and  I  saw  what  I  may  describe,  without 
exaggeration,  as  a  wolf -face.  He  was  not  dark  but 
yellow,  horribly  scarred  by  pox,  with  a  reddish  mane 
of  hair  and  scant,  scrubby  whiskers  depending  from 
neck  and  chin.  His  disgusting  mouth  was  toothless, 
save  for  isolated  and  prodigiously  long,  projecting  fangs. 
But  the  worst  of  all  were  his  eyes, —  narrow,  slit-like,  with 
blood-red  rims, —  not  cruel  nor  vindictive ;  for  an  instant 
I  was  puzzled,  then  it  came  over  me  like  a  flash  —  they 
were  not  human !  They  were  shallow,  alert,  watchful, 
like  the  eyes  of  a  dog  or  a  wolf. 

I  think  I  know  a  man  by  his  eyes ;  it  is  there  I  look 
for  revelations,  whether  good  or  bad.  And  as  I  be- 
lieve in  the  saving  grace  in  almost  every  human  being, 
I  am  willing  to  take  a  chance  with  a  man.  But  when 
I  encounter,  in  the  head  of  a  man,  eyes  that  lack  the 
human  light,  I  am  filled  with  doubt  and  distrust ;  for 
there  seems  nothing  to  take  hold  of.  Such  were  the 
eyes  of  my  guide.     Several  times  he  turned  and  looked 


32  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

at  me,  and  although  I  nodded  to  him  with  the  hope  of 
establishing  relations,  he  made  no  sign  nor  sound. 

It  was  now  broad  day.  The  sun  appeared  above  the 
mountains  to  the  east,  and  it  became  very  hot.  I  felt 
as  though  freed  from  a  sort  of  spell  or  enchantment, 
which  in  my  case  had  induced  a  previous  sense  of  con- 
tentment and  supreme  trust.  I  began  to  take  stock  of 
my  situation,  with  a  rapid  survey  of  the  events  of  the 
past  two  weeks. 

I  had  taken  train  at  Boston  and  journeyed  to  the 
Mexican  border  with  the  usual  railway  train  environ- 
ment. Bob's  society  had  added  a  piquant  element,  and 
his  savoir  faire  in  Mexico  had  made  the  transition  easy 
for  me.  Again  in  the  mountains,  Bob  taking  all  as  a 
matter  of  course,  I  had  done  the  same.  But  last  and 
principally,  there  was  a  matter-of-course  finality  per- 
taining to  Mexico's  psychology.  This  affects  every  one 
sooner  or  later.  Obviously  it  had  affected  me  sooner ; 
and  I  found  myself  in  the  heart  of  a  great  wilderness, 
journeying  I  knew  not  whither,  in  the  wake  of  the  most 
repulsive  and  fearsome  man  I  had  ever  encountered.  I 
realized  what  a  fool  I  had  been  to  accept  for  a  guide 
one  who  was  not  known  even  at  the  rancho ;  and  while 
I  wished  I  had  stuck  to  Bob,  I  did  not  blame  him.  With 
the  thoughtlessness  of  youth  he  had  seized  on  the  first 
way  out  of  our  dilemma.  I,  being  his  senior,  should 
have  employed  ordinary  caution.  I  resolved  that  I  would 
make  the  best  of  the  situation,  and  give  Wolf-Face  no 
hint  of  my  uneasiness.  From  that  instant,  while  I  as- 
sumed an  assured  demeanor,  I  never  for  a  second  re- 
laxed my  vigilance. 

I  was  aware  that  our  order  of  march  was  wrong;  for 
in  Mexico  the  mozo  or  guide  takes  tlie  rear :  but  I  de- 
termined  that  Wolf- Face   should  never  set  behind  me. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  33 

He  displayed  a  dangerous-looking  revolver  in  his  belt, 
and  also  a  long,  leather-encased  knife.  I  did  not  doubt 
he  was  an  adept  with  either  or  both.  I  cudjeled  my 
brain  for  some  Spanish  mandatory  word,  thinking  that 
for  the  sake  of  morale  I  should  give  an  occasional  order. 
He  was  crossing  a  tiny,  clear  rivulet,  which  cut  the  trail, 
and  my  intense  thirst  made  me  involuntarily  cry, 
"  Agua!"  He  turned  and  I  held  up  my  drinking  cup. 
I  can  see  him  now,  as  he  slid  off  his  mustang  and  came 
slinking  back  along  the  trail  after  the  cup.  Swiftly 
crouching  he  filled  it  and  as  he  handed  it,  removed  his 
hat  with  his  left  hand  and  fawned  against  my  mule, 
leering  up  at  me  with  his  shallow  eyes.  I  knew  some- 
how that  he  would  try  for  the  rear,  and  when  he 
cringed  again  and  motioned  for  me  to  pass  ahead,  I 
had  another  inspiration.  "  A)idale!"  I  said  in  a  bored 
voice.  Bob  used  to  say  "  Andale !  "  at  minute-intervals 
to  the  Durango  coachmen.  It  really  means  "  walk !  " 
but  it  is  the  common  mandate  for  "  hurry  1  "  At  this  he 
scrambled  astride  his  mustang  and  went  on,  looking 
back  repeatedly,  as  though  he  feared  I  would  turn  and 
vanish.  But  I  had  no  such  intention.  My  revolver  was 
close  at  my  hand  and  so  was  my  rifle,  and  I  knew  I 
could  hold  my  own  so  long  as  I  kept  him  in  the  lead. 

I  thought  of  the  long  distance  separating  me  from 
civilization,  as  represented  by  Durango.  For  three  days 
we  had  been  journeying  into  the  mountains,  and  now, 
on  the  fourth,  the  country  was  the  wildest  I  had  seen. 
Still  it  was  beautiful,  with  a  savage,  awe-inspiring  beauty. 
The  thread-like  trail,  which  must  have  been  long  aban- 
doned, lay  midway  along  the  side  of  precipitous  cliffs, 
whose  heights  towered  thousands  of  feet  overhead,  and 
whose  declivities  fell  in  almost  sheer  descent  thousands 
of  feet  below.     The  rock  formations,  of  red  sandstone. 


34  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

were  equal  in  grandeur  to  those  of  Colorado,  and  for  long 
intervals  their  imposing  splendor,  enhanced  by  the 
majesty  of  the  pine  forests  and  the  intense  blue  of  the 
heavens,  made  me  forget  my  uneasiness.  Then  I  would 
encounter  the  stare  of  those  shallow  eyes.  They  seemed 
to  say,  "  Keep  it  up  as  long  as  you  can.  You  will  wear 
out  in  the  end  !  " 

While  the  trail  had  been  long  in  disuse,  I  saw  small 
wooden  crosses  at  intervals,  marking  the  spot  where  a 
death  had  occurred.  I  had  heard  that  on  these  moun- 
tain trails  it  was  usually  a  death  of  violence  —  from 
shooting  or  with  the  knife.  There  came  to  my  mind 
a  story  I  had  heard  at  the  hotel  in  Durango  of  an 
American  who,  while  prospecting  for  mines  in  these 
mountains,  became  separated  from  his  companions. 
They  found  his  body,  weeks  later,  with  his  revolver 
lying  near  his  hand.  I  concluded  that  my  case  was  not 
so  bad  as  his,  for  Wolf-Face,  at  least,  knew  where  we 
were  going. 

The  sun  was  now  high  overhead.  Wolf-Face  stopped 
at  another  small  stream,  and  began  with  clawing  ges- 
tures to  simulate  eating  or  rather  tearing  food.  He 
also  pointed  to  a  slight  recess  off  the  trail  where  we 
might  dismount,  it  being  his  obvious  wish  to  stop  for 
dinner.  For  an  instant  I  wavered,  being  half-famished; 
but  my  distrust  was  strong.  With  a  peremptory 
"  Andale !  "  I  motioned  him  on ;  and  on  he  went,  with 
occasional  furtive,  backward  glances  that  taxed  my  com- 
posure. I  had  neglected  my  watch  the  night  before, 
so  even  this  remnant  of  ordinary  existence  was  denied 
me ;  but  I  judged  from  the  position  of  the  sun  it 
was  about  two  o'clock.  As  I  had  not  yet  eaten  a 
mouthful,  I  drew  forth  a  huge  gorda  and  tried  .to  eat. 


Over  Mexico's  mountains  on  a  mule 


>nai  [leniiig  liie  (lulls 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  37 

It  was  coarse,  cold,  and  unsavory ;  but  I  was  faint  for 
food,  and  forced  myself  to  swallow.  I  now  thought  of 
my  flask,  which  was  a  parting  gift  from  friends.  It 
was  filled  with  tequila,  the  native  brandy  made  from  the 
root  of  the  maguey.  Until  then  I  had  scarcely  tasted  it, 
but  I  filled  the  cup  to  the  brim,  and  as  I  drained  the 
fiery  liquor  I  thought  of  my  friends.  The  stuff  put  life 
into  me,  and  what  with  another  gorda  to  stop  the  burn- 
ing and  another  draught  to  wash  down  the  gorda,  I 
managed  to  revive  the  inner  man. 

Wolf-Face  now  performed  the  first  human  act  I  had 
observed.  He  had  watched  me  attentively  and  no  doubt 
noted  my  flask.  Coming  to  another  rivulet,  he  alighted 
on  the  trail,  and  held  out  his  hand  for  my  drinking-cup. 
The  water  was  ice-cold  and  delicious.  After  drinking, 
I  filled  the  cup  with  tequila  and  gave  it  to  him.  He 
took  it  at  one  gulp,  but  after  it,  he  stood  almost  erect, 
and  for  the  first  time  I  saw  in  him  the  semblance  of  a 
man.  Immoral  was  it, — and  unethical?  I  have  naught 
to  say  in  extenuation,  except  that  I  was  determined  to 
win. 

At  what  I  presumed  to  be  about  five  o'clock,  the  sun 
passed  below  the  mountain  rim,  and  my  heart  sank  with 
it.  Night  would  come  —  not  rapidly  —  but  it  would 
come.  Wolf-Face  was  gazing  back  again.  Again  he 
clawed  the  air,  but  now  he  was  pointing.  From  the 
wide,  free  sweep  of  his  arm  I  saw  he  was  pointing 
over  immeasurable  distance  to  something  far  below  in 
the  valley.  Wild  hope  sprang  up  in  my  breast  and  I 
peered  into  the  valley.  At  last  I  distinguished  something 
like  a  shining,  silver  ribbon.  Surely  that  must  be  the 
little  river!  And  beside  it,  I  could  make  out  rectangu- 
lar, brown  objects.     The  roofs  of  adobe  huts  of  course ! 


38  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

It  must  be  —  it  was  — "  Huahuapan  !  "  barked  Wolf- 
Face  excitedly.  It  was  the  first  sound  he  had  uttered 
all  day. 

The  trail  now  made  an  abrupt  turn  down  the  side  of 
the  mountain,  which  was  covered  with  dense  chaparral, 
and  the  huts  were  lost  to  view.  Soon  we  came  to  the 
crest  of  a  slight  rise,  preparatory  to  another  descent,  and 
I  saw  them  again.  From  then  on  I  had  occasional 
cheering  glimpses  of  the  pueblo,  where  I  hoped  my 
friends  awaited  me ;  and  each  time  the  huts  appeared 
larger.  The  trail  was  precipitous  and  dangerous,  but 
my  mule,  whatever  her  shortcomings,  was  sure-footed ; 
and  on  that  perilous  ride  she  won  my  confidence  which 
she  never  forfeited  later  by  either  stumbling  or  falling. 
It  was  two  hours  after  we  sighted  the  pueblo  when  we 
gained  the  floor  of  the  valley,  forded  the  stream,  which 
proved  to  be  a  foaming  torrent  reaching  to  my  mule's 
belly,  and  some  thirty  feet  across,  and  entered  the  small, 
ruined  pueblo  of  Huahuapan,  where  I  received  a  wel- 
come from  my  friend  Don  Alfredo  and  his  wife,  truly 
Calif ornian  in  its'afifectionate  fervor. 

Being  but  human,  I  now  made  light  of  the  difficulties 
through  which  I  lately  had  passed,  and  even  refrained 
from  mentioning  my  distrust  of  the  fiddler.  Indeed  I 
scarcely  gave  him  a  thought  in  the  pleasure  and  wonder 
of  this  meeting.  My  friends  had  started  from  San 
Francisco,  I  from  Boston,  and  after  journeying  three 
thousand  miles  on  opposite  sides  of  the  continent,  our 
routes  had  converged  and  at  last  met  in  this  isolated, 
semi-savage  pueblo,  four  and  a  half  days  on  mule-back 
from  a  steamboat  or  a  railroad,  with  cordones  or  ranges, 
ten  thousand  feet  high,  dividing  us  from  both.  As  I 
am  a  truthful  man,  I  will  confess  that  we  were  led  on 
this  hard  and  perilous  journey  by  the  prospect  of  untold 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  39 

riches  in  the  old,  abandoned  mines  of  the  Huahuapan 
district. 

Don  Alfredo  and  his  wife  had  reached  the  pueblo 
several  weeks  before  my  arrival,  and  I  was  amazed  to 
find  them  engaged  in  living  and  working  in  genuine 
American  fashion.  He  had  already  sampled  and  assayed 
the  ore  from  the  various  old  workings,  and  had  thirty 
odd  peones  in  two  different  prospects,  wliich  he  said  we 
would  take  a  look  at  on  the  next  morning. 

Dona  Marciana,  as  the  people  styled  her,  had  been 
busily  employed  in  making  a  home.  The  first  requisite 
was  a  roof,  but  this  was  hard  to  find  in  a  place  where 
roofs  were,  as  a  rule,  in  the  last  stages  of  collapse. 
Fortunately  a  whole  one  was  found  and  the  owner  was 
willing  to  rent.  It  covered  one  enormous  room, 
plastered  outside  and  in  with  adobe  mud ;  the  floor  was 
adobe  and  there  was  one  window  with  wooden  bars  and 
a  door.  She  had  never  thought  much  of  whitewash 
before,  but  one  learns  to  appreciate  the  humblest  agents, 
when  they  are  hard  to  get.  To  obtain  whitewash,  an 
Indian  had  to  be  despatched  into  the  mountains  with 
burros  to  fetch  the  lime.  It  took  him  two  days.  Then 
he  had  to  mix  the  stuff  and  make  a  sort  of  mop  to 
daub  it  on  with,  which  took  another  day.  Thus  a  week 
passed,  but  at  the  end  the  room  was  snow  white  from 
base  to  ceiling,  and  no  sola,  frescoed  by  a  master,  was 
ever  hailed  with  more  delight.  The  room  was  large, 
some  twenty  by  forty  feet.  One  end  was  converted 
into  a  kitchen.  There  was  an  American  cookstove,  and 
when  its  fame  went  abroad,  all  the  women  of  the  pueblo 
came  and  crouched  about  it  in  mute  admiration.  Until 
then  they  had  held  off,  but  the  cooking  machine  of  the 
white  woman  was  more  than  their  curiosity  could  with- 
stand.    The  center  was  the   dining-room,  with  a  table 


40  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

covered  with  enamel  cloth,  and  the  other  end  served  for 
a  bedroom.  Among  the  unwelcome  visitors  the  people 
told  her  she  might  expect  were  pulgas  (fleas)  chinches 
(bedbugs)  both  with  wings  and  without,  alacranes, 
tarantulas,  scorpions,  centipecjes  and  sancudas  (mosqui- 
toes). Accordingly  the  bed  was  provided  with  a  stout 
netting  and  each  foot  stood  in  a  can  of  petroled.  There 
was  no  floor  covering,  beyond  a  mat  near  the  bed.  An 
adobe  floor  grows  hard  and  smooth  with  constant 
sprinkling  and  sweeping.  The  window  was  left  uncov- 
ered, save  for  a  mosquito  netting.  There  were  four 
blank,  white  walls  and  these  she  converted  into  things 
of  beauty.  Her  friends  had  already  begun  sending 
magazines  and  pictorials,  and  in  due  time  these  arrived, 
borne  over  the  mountains  on  the  shoulder  of  a  peon, 
who  declared  the  American's  correspondencia  was  too 
heavy. 

In  this  day  of  elaborate  illustration,  given  a  plenty  of 
papers  and  magazines,  a  good  white  background,  and  an 
eye  for  the  beautiful,  and  wall  decoration  is  assured.  It 
was  a  delightful  room.  The  guitar  and  mandolin  had  a 
corner  to  themselves ;  there  were  good-looking,  straight- 
legged  oak  chairs  covered  with  hide,  and  hammocks  hung 
just  outside  the  door,  where  burros  and  pigs  came  peril- 
ously near. 

Being  worn  with  my  travels  I  soon  inquired  for  my 
bed,  and  Don  Alfredo  led  me  to  the  assay  office,  where 
I  was  to  sleep.  We  left  Dofia  Marciana  engaged  in  the 
remarkable  enterprise,  in  Mexico,  of  making  American 
bread ;  and  to  my  knowledge  for  a  year,  that  camp  was 
never  without  it.  Of  course  she  had  Indian  servants, 
but  it  takes  time  to  teach  the  Indian. 

But  Indian  women  can  teach  as  well.  From  them  she 
learned  to  do  a  wonderful  sort  of  lace  work,  finer  than 


nc  pet    Din  I ' 


An  old  cliurch  made  into  an   Anierican  home 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  43 

the  finest  cobwebs.  She  painted  a  Httle,  read  a  great 
deal,  and  attended  rehgiously  to  her  large  correspon- 
dence. Writing  to  one's  friends  gets  to  be  a  religion 
in  lonely  places.  At  first  the  mail  came  once  a  week, 
and  its  coming  was  anxiously  awaited.  Then  the  rains 
came,  the  Indian  who  brought  it  had  to  make  a  tremen- 
dous detour  to  avoid  the  torrents,  and  its  arrival  became 
a  fortnightly  event.  That  Indian  mail  x:arrier  stood  high 
in  Doha  Marciana's  favor.  When  he  came,  wet  to  the 
skin,  but  with  a  fat  sack  of  letters  and  papers  on  his 
back,  he  must  first  have  hot  coffee  and  something  to 
eat,  before  she  would  consent  to  distribute  the  mail. 
Every  letter  was  worth  its  weight  in  gold.  Why  can't 
we  realize,  who  love  to  receive  letters,  that  one  from  us 
means  just  as  much  to  somebody  else? 

Dona  Marciana  loved  pets.  She  had  a  mule,  a  trick 
burro,  a  cow,  several  dogs  and  a  pair  of  rabbits,  besides 
doves  and  chickens.  But  the  mountains  abound  in 
coyotes,  foxes,  opossums,  hawks,  snakes  and  gigantic 
lizards,  and  every  one  has  a  fondness  for  young  doves 
and  chickens.  So  she  learned  to  shoot  a  rifle ;  and  many 
were  the  trophies  that  adorned  her  walls,  recalling  the 
death  of  various  marauders  despatched  by  her  own  hand. 
Then  she  took  photographs :  amateurs,  who  have  every 
convenience  at  hand  for  their  work,  can  fancy  what 
photography  means,  in  a  spot  where  hypo  is  precious 
as  diamond  dust  and  developer  must  be  used  again  and 
again;  where  every  drop  of  water  is  carried  from  the 
river  on  women's  shoulders,  and  where  a  dark  room  can 
only  be  obtained  by  waiting  for  a  dark  night. 

The  people  contributed  to  her  amusement.  Occasion- 
ally the  women  assembled  and  went  in  solemn  procession 
to  visit  her.  A  dozen  would  file  in  and  range  themselves 
about  the  room,  crouching  on  the  floor,  when  there  were 
3 


44  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

no  chairs  or  boxes  left  to  offer.  There  they  sat,  de- 
vouring every  article  in  sight  with  their  eyes,  occasionally 
exchanging  a  whispered  word  or  two,  and  then  took 
their  departure,  as  solemnly  as  they  had  come.  At  first, 
the  intercourse  between  the  hostess  and  her  guests  was 
limited  to  the  ceremonious  handshaking;  but  she  even- 
tually came  to  understand  their  odd  dialect,  which  is  a 
curious  corruption  of  Spanish.  They  showed  their  im- 
itative genius  in  trying  in  their  rude  way,  to  copy  her 
clothing,  and  soon  every  woman  among  them  rejoiced 
in  an  apron,  which  had  hitherto  been  unknown.  There 
was  also  a  great  demand  for  shoes,  and  many  a  dusky 
matron  suffered  untold  torture,  crowding  her  sturdy  feet 
into  wretched,  high-heeled,  pointed-toed,  shiny  Mexican 
shoes,  that  made  her  hobble  where  before  she  had  glided, 
nimble  as  a  cat.  These  luckily  were  discarded,  when  the 
women  went,  night  and  morning,  to  bring  water  from 
the  river,  tripping  lightly  over  the  sharp  rocks,  with  a 
huge  olla  of  water  deftly  balanced  on  the  head,  or  held 
on  one  shoulder. 

Doha  Marciana  had  in  her  possession  one  article,  that 
the  people  regarded  as  a  sort  of  fetish.  It  was  a  small, 
highly  polished  medicine  chest.  Shortly  after  her  ar- 
rival, a  woman  who  had  been  very  ill,  was  cured  by  a 
remedy  taken  from  that  chest.  News  of  the  magic  went 
abroad  and  it  was  said  that  the  cajita  bonita  (beautiful 
little  box)  held  a  sure  cure  for  every  ill  that  flesh  was 
heir  to.  The  Indians  themselves  still  preserve  con- 
siderable knowledge  of  medicinal  plants.  In  fact  there 
is  not  a  weed  nor  a  flower  to  which  they  do  not  assign 
some  virtue.  This,  they  will  tell  you,  is  good  for  head- 
ache ;  this  for  a  cough ;  this  flower  cures  snake-bite,  and 
the  leaves  of  that  tree  will  stop  bleeding.  The  people  of 
the  pueblo,  however,  forsook  their  own  medicines,  when 


THE  MAN  WHO  LUvES  MEXICO  45 

the  fame  of  the  cajita  bonita  went  abroad.  Every  man, 
woman  or  child,  with  an  ache  or  pain  came  to  Dona 
JMarciana  to  soHcit  mcdiciiia.  Now  medicine,  in  the 
mountains  of  Mexico,  is  even  more  precious  than  hypo- 
sulph,  and  one  never  knows  when  it  may  be  needed  badly. 
She  was  willing  to  give  if  the  case  was  serious,  and  al- 
ways kept  a  stock  of  lint  and  bandages  on  hand  in  the 
event  of  an  accident  in  the  mines ;  but  this  perpetual  cry 
for  medicina  was  out  of  all  reason.  Finally  she  hit  on 
a  plan.  She  adopted  the  water  cure.  When  a  man 
came  with  a  sprain,  she  sent  him  to  hold  the  injured 
member  in  the  river.  Hot  water  was  prescribed  for  this 
ache,  and  cold  water  for  that.  The  patients  obeyed,  and 
almost  always  found  relief.  It  was  most  conducive  to 
cleanliness  and  a  vast  saving  in  medicina.  The  most 
remarkable  cure  was  of  a  man,  apparently  in  the  last 
stages  of  consumption,  and  filthy  beyond  words.  He 
was  advised  to  bathe  in  the  river  and  told  that  if  he 
bathed  often  enough,  he  would  get  well.  Soon  after- 
wards, he  was  seen  in  the  river.  The  next  day  and  the 
next  found  him  still  bathing,  and  it  got  so  that  at  any 
time  of  day  he  cbuld  be  found,  soaking  in  some  shallow 
pool.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  he  began  to  get  better. 
He  ate  more,  took  on  flesh,  and  in  a  month  was  as  able 
to  work  as  any  peon  about  the  place. 

What  with  the  water  cure  and  the  cajita  bonita,  which 
was  resorted  to  in  extreme  cases,  Doiia  Marciana  came 
to  be  greatly  revered  by  the  people,  and  many  were  the 
humble  offerings  they  brought  her.  When  there  was  a 
dance  and  the  girls  and  young  men  were  all  assembled, 
they  came  to  her  door  with  lighted  torches ;  and  the 
giver  of  the  baile  led  each  girl  up  in  turn  to  salute  her. 
Then  they  went  and  danced  till  daybreak.  Sometimes 
she  would  signify  her  wish  to  see  one  of  their  dances, 


46  THE  MAN  WHO  LUvES  MEXICO 

and  a  young  man  would  bring  his  novia  (sweetheart) 
and  together  they  would  dance  the  jarabe  till  both  were 
exhausted.  Or  perhaps  she  would  request  one  of  her 
favorite  pieces,  and  they  would  sit  in  the  moonlit  corral, 
strumming  guitar  and  mandolin,  until  they  were  sur- 
rounded by  dark  forms.  The  women  would  come  and 
crouch  on  the  ground,  with  their  children  in  their  arms. 
The  men  would  stand  motionless  in  the  shadow.  Not  a 
sound  disturbed  the  performance  except  an  adventure- 
some pig  perhaps,  or  a  sad-voiced  burro,  protesting  from 
the  mountain-side. 

It  is  truly  said  that  the  woman  is  the  natural  home- 
maker.  But  Doiia  Marciana,  it  seemed  to  me,  had  more 
to  make  than  the  woman  usually  has.  She  not  only  made 
a  home,  but  in  her  mysterious  woman-way  she  filled  it 
with  happiness,  which  overflowed  and  got  into  the  homes 
of  the  people.  I  have  no  doubt  that  an  appreciable 
factor  in  her  plan  was  her  insistence,  in  this  outlandish 
place  which  was  five  days  from  a  yeast-cake,  on  con- 
stantly providing  her  household  with  American  bread. 

The  morning  after  my  arrival,  Don  Alfredo  invited 
me  to  a  swim  before  breakfast,  telling  me  I  had  only  to 
don  a  pair  of  overalls  over  my  pajamas,  and  take  my 
underclothing  along.  I  found  the  pueblo  even  more 
dejected  in  appearance  than  it  had  seemed  the  night  be- 
fore. There  were  not  over  three  hundred  souls  in  all, 
and  the  early  abandonment  of  the  mines,  with  the  en- 
suing misery,  had  induced  in  the  people  a  dull  and  hope- 
less apathy.  Our  advent  had  somewhat  aroused  them, 
and  we  had  already  employed  over  thirty  of  their  men. 
They  were  civil  in  their  greetings,  but  for  any  outward 
expression  on  their  part,  we  might  always  have  lived 
among  them.  This  again  was  Mexico's  psychology.  A 
plunge  in  the  river,  which  was  crystal-clear  and  very 


The  livins-room 


The  table  was  covered  with  enamel  cloth 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  49 

cokl,  the  sun  not  having  yet  touched  it,  proved  a  fine 
tonic.  Again  I  experienced  the  complete  refreshment 
of  nerves  and  body  imparted  by  Mexico's  mountains. 
We  breakfasted  hurriedly,  for  our  mules  were  waiting 
at  the  door,  and  before  us  was  the  never-failing  thrill 
of  a  first  look  at  the  face  of  the  mine.  Many  a  rich 
bonanza,  ere  now,  has  been  opened  up  by  the  night 
shift. 

The  scene  that  met  my  eyes,  as  we  quitted  the  pueblo 
on  our  mules,  was  inspiring  as  the  town  itself  was  de- 
pressing. The  valley  which  lay  five  thousand  feet  above 
the  sea  was  perhaps  a  mile  long,  and  enclosed  by  pine- 
clad  mountains,  whose  mean  altitude  was  about  ten 
thousand  feet.  On  their  heights  appeared,  amid  the 
glistening  pines,  such  wondrous  formations  in  red  sand- 
stone as  to  give  at  first  the  impression  that  they  were 
fashioned  by  man.  The  intense  blue  of  the  heavens,  the 
fragrant,  balmy  air,  and  the  profusion  of  bright  birds 
and  flowers  made  the  valley  seem  a  paradise.  And  be- 
yond all  this  scenic  enchantment  was  the  ever-present 
dream  of  the  mines,  with  their  illimitable  promise  of 
riches.  This  was  the  dream  that  cast  its  glamour  over 
the  beautiful  valley,  where  the  very  light  seemed  golden. 
After  an  hour's  ride  we  reached  the  tunnel,  where  the 
men  were  at  Avork.  A  pleasurable  excitement  was  in 
the  air.  Soon  the  foreman,  who  was  an  American,  ap- 
peared with  a  broad  smile  and  told  Don  Alfredo  that 
the  last  blast  had  opened  up  a  vein  of  high-grade  ore. 
He  was  as  happy  as  possible  and  wanted  to  wager  that 
an  assay  would  show  it  to  be  very  rich  metal,  with  a 
high  percentage  of  gold.  The  peones,  too,  had  caught 
the  infection  and  laughed  and  sang,  their  lithe,  nude 
bodies  glistening  with  sweat  as  they  toiled  from  the 
mine,  bearing  on  their  backs  great  leather  sacks  filled 


50  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

with  waste.  This  they  emptied  on  the  dump  and  trotted 
in  for  more.  The  peones,  hke  all  the  workmen,  knew 
that  rich  mines  meant  a  good  living  for  them  and  their 
families. 

Leaving  our  mules,  we  were  provided  by  the  fore- 
man with  lights,  and  with  him  traversed  the  long  tunnel 
until  we  came  to  the  face,  where  the  barratcros  were 
drilling  with  steel  harras  or  drills,  preparatory  to  putting 
in  another  charge  of  dynamite.  These  men  were  of 
higher  skill  and  intelligence  than  the  peones,  who  merely 
carried  the  ore  and  dirt  from  the  mine.  They  were 
serious  and  dignified,  and  their  manifest  satisfaction 
at  the  appearance  of  the  vein  was  correspondingly  im- 
pressive. Don  Alfredo  took  some  samples  of  ore,  and 
our  curiosity  was  high  to  see  what  they  would  assay. 
Jumping  upon  our  mules,  we  sent  them  racing  down 
the  trail,  and  knowing  that  a  feed  of  corn  awaited  them, 
they  carried  us  back  to  camp  in  less  than  half  the  time 
it  took  to  reach  the  mines.  We  now  started  a  fire  in 
the  assay-furnace,  crushed  the  ore  and  prepared  the 
assays,  and  eagerly  watched  the  result  of  the  fiery  test. 
The  beads  came  out  as  big  as  small  peas.  The  ore  was 
very  rich,  as  the  foreman  was  ready  to  wager,  and  it 
carried  considerable  gold.  Ore  like  that,  if  it  holds  out, 
constitutes  a  bonanza.  Dona  Marciana  came  to  exclaim 
and  admire,  but  she  also  held,  woman-like,  to  the  opinion 
that  a  well-prepared  dinner  should  not  be  despised,  even 
if  the  mines  were  in  bonanza.  After  dining,  we  sought 
our  hammocks,  for  the  afternoon  siesta.  The  mountains 
and  valley  were  suffused  with  a  golden  haze,  which 
merged  with  our  slumbers,  and  tinged  our  dreams  with 
gold.  lUit  the  next  day  brought  disillusion.  The  rich 
find  turned  out  to  be  only  a  pocket  of  ore,  and  was  soon 
exhausted.     The  mother  vein  lay  further  in  the  moun- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  51 

tain,  the  foreman  said.  It  meant  running  the  tunnel  a 
Httle  further,  that  was  all.  Don  Alfredo  was  sanguine, 
like  the  foreman.  It  takes  a  sanguine  man  to  make  a 
successful  miner. 

So  fascinated  did  I  become  with  this  mining  life,  so 
absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  what  each  day  brought 
forth, —  the  past,  which  had  to  do  with  cities  and  civili- 
zation, grew  dim  and  unreal,  while  the  present  seemed  the 
only  reality.  I  even  had  ceased  to  think  of  my  ride  in 
the  mountains  and  of  "  Wolf-Face,"  until  one  day  our 
storekeeper,  who  spoke  a  quaintly  broken  English,  re- 
minded me  of  him. 

"  The  people  were  all  surprise,  that  night  you  arrive," 
he  remarked ;  "  they  say  you  bring  one  very  bad  peon." 

"Why  bad?"  I  inquired. 

"  Quien  sabe  ?  "  he  said  with  a  shrug ;  "  they  say  he 
has  kill  some  people." 

"  What  did  he  kill  them  for?  "  I  inquired,  trying  to  ap- 
pear indifferent. 

"  For  to  rob  them,"  replied  the  storekeeper.  "  He 
is  very  bad  man.  He  has  —  how  you  say  it  ?  — 
cora::on  de  loho."     [Heart  of  a  wolf.] 

This  bit  of  information  was  on  the  whole  rather  grati- 
fying; for  while  I  had  never  communicated  my  suspi- 
cions regarding  "  W'olf-Face  "  to  a  soul,  my  opinion  of 
him  was  at  last  vindicated. 


CHAPTER  III 

Stories  of  Lost  Mines:  "EI  Naranjal":  How  Mines  Were 
Lost:  Fear  and  Strange  Superstitions  of  the  Lidians :  Story 
of  the  Man  Who  Says  He  Saw  "  El  Naranjal  " :  Story  of  "  La 
Providencia  "  :  The  Foolish  Compadres  :  The  Life  Search  of 
Don  Modesto. 

OF  all  the  romantic  tales  heard  in  this  land  of 
romance,  none  are  more  fascinating  than  the 
stories  of  lost  mines :  of  mines  that  were 
known,  long  before  the  War  of  Independence,  to  have 
been  fabtilously  rich ;  but  which  have  since  disappeared, 
together  with  their  Spanish  owners,  as  completely  as 
though  they  never  existed. 

It  is  said  by  some  that  when  these  mines  were  aban- 
doned by  the  Spaniards,  they  were  effectually  covered 
up ;  and  that  in  many  instances  the  owners  died  without 
divulging  their  whereabouts.  Others  say  that  to  this 
day  there  are  Indians  living  in  remote  places  in  the 
mountains,  whose  fathers  worked  in  these  very  mines 
and  who  could  show  thetn  up  if  they  would.  There 
was  an  old  stiperstition  among  the  Indians,  doubtless 
founded  on  the  threats  of  their  masters,  that  to  betray 
the  locality  of  an  ancient  mine  would  bring  certain 
death ;  and  in  some  instances  this  belief  still  exists. 
Mexico  abounds  in  old  mines  that  were  worked  cen- 
turies ago,  and  in  ruined  haciendas,  whose  beginnings  the 
people  themselves  know  nothing  about.  They  are  en- 
countered in  most  unlooked  for  and  almost  inaccessible 

52 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  53 

places ;  and  it  is  not  improbable  that  many  more  exist, 
to  be  discovered  in  the  future. 

One  of  the  most  famous  and  long-sought-for  old 
Spanish  mines,  in  this  middle-western  part  of  Durango 
is  "  El  Naranjal "  (the  Orangery)  which  was  reputed 
to  be  a  big  gold  producer.  Long  after  the  Revolution, 
when  mining  in  this  section  was  revived  by  foreign 
capital,  reports  were  rife  about  this  wonderful  mine; 
and  yet  no  one  knew  just  where  it  was.  Many  had  heard 
it  described  by  their  fathers  or  grandfathers,  and  all 
agreed  on  one  point ;  that  the  hacienda  was  surrounded 
by  a  large  orange  orchard  {naranjal)  from  which  the 
mine  took  its  name.  While  it  is  hard  to  believe  that 
such  a  place,  wdiich  must  have  employed  many  peones, 
could  be  actually  lost,  if  we  consider  the  years  during 
which  all  industry  was  paralyzed  by  continued  wars, 
together  with  the  apathy  of  the  Indians,  and  the  nomad 
existence  of  the  average  mining  peon,  it  is  not  impos- 
sible. 

Many  are  the  exploring  parties,  equipped  by  wealthy 
mine  owners,  that  have  gone  in  search  of  "  El  Naran- 
jal " :  many  the  supposed  clues,  such  as  traces  of  gold 
in  a  mountain  stream,  or  a  piece  of  rich  quartz  on  the 
trail,  that  have  been  followed  for  weeks,  only  to  end  in 
disappointment.  "  El  Naranjal,"  to  all  intents  and  pur- 
poses, existed  only  in  the  imagination  of  the  people,  who 
still  talked  about  it  as  confidently  as  though  it  were 
an  established  fact.  Their  stories  always  held  a  pe- 
culiar fascination  for  me.  It  was  not  so  much  the 
hidden  treasure  as  the  old  hacienda  itself  that  excited 
my  imagination.  I  often  pictured  the  ruined  buildings 
and  the  deserted  chapel,  whose  bell  had  been  silent  for  a 
century,  save  for  a  muffled  note  perhaps  that  fell  from 
it  on  stormy  nights;  with  no  sign  of  life  save  the  bats 


54  THE  MAN  WHO  LHvES  MEXICO 

that  flitted  in  and  out  at  nightfall,  and  with  the 
orange  trees  growing  thicker  and  taller,  shutting  it  more 
and  more  away  from  the  world. 

So  one  day  when  a  man  said  to  me,  "  I  have  seen 
'  El  Naranjal,'  I  stared  at  him  in  amazement  for  fully 
a  minute,  before  I  could  believe  my  senses.  Then  I 
passed  him  my  pocket  flask,  offered  him  a  cigarro  and 
waited  for  him  to  continue.  He  was  a  character,  such 
as  you  will  find  only  in  a  mining  camp:  half-Mexican- 
ized,  through  long  residence  in  the  country ;  always 
threatening  to  leave  it,  yet  never  leaving ;  always  ex- 
pecting to  strike  it  rich  and  never  striking  it. 

"  Yes,"  he  went  on,  "  I  have  seen  '  El  Naranjal.'  It 
happened  this  way.  I  had  been  prospecting  all  summer 
near  an  old  pueblo  north  of  Durango,  and  was  returning 
to  the  city  for  the  holidays.  The  first  night  out,  I  came 
to  a  lone  Indian  rancho  about  sundown,  and  asked  if 
I  could  sleep  there.  The  owner,  an  old  white-haired 
fellow,  lived  alone  and  as  the  road  was  seldom  traveled, 
he  seemed  rather  glad  to  see  me.  I  had  with  me  a 
couple  of  flasks  of  Scotch  whisky,  and  when  we 
had  made  a  supper  on  beans  and  tortillas,  I  got  out 
one  of  the  bottles  and  after  a  number  of  pulls,  he  be- 
came exceedingly  friendly.  The  talk  turned  on  old 
mines,  and  he  finally  told  me  that  he  knew  where  there 
was  a  very  rich  one,  with  a  ruined  hacienda. 

"  He  said  it  was  during  a  war,  probably  the  French 
intervention,  and  that  the  government  had  sent  soldiers 
into  the  mountains  after  recruits.  He  took  what  cattle 
he  had  and  drove  them  over  the  mountains  and  down 
the  other  side.  At  the  bottom  of  the  canon  beyond, 
which  he  had  reached  by  following  an  old  trail,  he  came 
on  an  abandoned  hacienda.  The  mine,  which  was  close 
by,  had  been  worked  extensively ;  and  he  picked  up  a 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  AIEXICO  55 

piece  of  rock  on  the  dump,  with  chunks  of  pure  gold,  as 
yellow  as  the  oranges.  I  questioned  him  more  closely. 
He  said  there  were  many  orange  trees  and  that  they 
were  very  old ;  and  then  I  felt  satisfied  he  had  seen  the 
lost  Naranjal.  I  asked  him  if  he  would  take  me  there ; 
but  he  replied  evasively  and  became  very  reticent,  so  the 
subject  dropped. 

"  The  next  morning  I  waited  anxiously  for  him  to 
refer  to  it  again,  but  he  said  never  a  word ;  and  my 
experience  with  Indians  had  taught  me  never  to  try  forc- 
ing their  hand.  The  old  fellow  had  treated  me  well, 
and  as  I  was  about  to  leave,  I  gave  him  the  flask,  which 
still  had  a  little  whisky  left.  His  eyes  glistened  with  de- 
light and  he  went  and  put  it  carefully  inside  an  ancient 
chest  made  of  rawhide,  that  stood  in  the  corner.  Re- 
turning he  handed  me,  without  speaking,  a  piece  of  rock. 
Instinctively  I  knew  it  was  the  one  he  had  picked  up 
on  the  ore-dump.  I  held  it  to  the  light  and  saw  gold 
nuggets,  as  big  as  the  end  of  my  little  finger. 

**  I  looked  at  the  old  man  and  waited  for  him  to 
speak.  Instead  he  took  my  arm  and  led  me  into  the 
corral.  Pointing  to  the  mountains,  he  asked  if  I  saw 
a  peak  that  looked  like  a  big  pilonciUo  (conical  loaf  of 
sugar).  On  my  answering  in  the  affirmative,  he  said 
the  trail  he  had  followed  crossed  at  that  point.  He  was 
silent  for  a  while  as  though  thinking  deeply.  At  last 
he  said  that  if  I  wanted  to  see  the  old  mine  he  would 
go  with  me  as  far  as  the  peak,  and  start  me  on  the  right 
trail.  Beyond  that  point,  he  himself  would  not  go.  He 
said  there  were  bears  and  tigers  on  the  other  side,  and 
that  I  would  need  to  go  well  armed  and  with  provisions 
for  a  week  or  more. 

"  Impressed  as  I  was  by  what  he  had  told  me,  I  was 
in   no  position  to   profit   by   it.     I   was   alone,   with   no 


56  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

chance  of  getting  aid  inside  of  five  days  and  without 
suflScient  money  to  secure  an  outfit  in  any  event.  I 
determined,  however,  to  remember  the  peak  and  that 
some  day  I  would  return  and  look  for  the  mine.  I 
cautioned  the  old  man  not  to  mention  it  to  any  one 
else.  He  looked  at  me  gravely  and  replied  that  he  was 
a  youth  at  the  time  he  made  the  discovery,  and  that  I 
was  the  first  one  he  had  ever  told.  Promising  him  I 
would  return,  I  set  out  for  Durango. 

"  When  I  arrived,  I  learned  that  the  men  I  had  been 
working  for  had  lost  faith  in  the  prospect  and  did  not 
need  my  services  any  longer,  I  tried  in  vain  to  interest 
several  mining  men  in  '  El  Naranjal.'  They  all  heard 
me  through,  but  had  invariably  too  many  irons  in  the 
fire  already,  to  start  on  such  a  wild-goose  chase,  as  they 
termed  it;  and  I  was  at  last  compelled  to  go  to  work 
from  actual  necessity.  Years  went  by  and  while  I  never 
forgot  the  old  Indian's  story  I  could  never  quite  see  my 
way  clear  to  follow  it  up.  Yes,  I  am  a  drinking  man,  a 
heavy  one  at  times,  like  nearly  all  the  old  stagers ;  and 
often  the  money  went  in  a  spree  that  might  have  helped 
me  to  '  El  Naranjal '  and  a  fortune.  It  got  so  finally, 
that  when  I  told  the  story  people  only  laughed.  I  re- 
gretted a  hundred  times  that  I  had  not  gotten  possession 
of  the  rock,  by  hook  or  crook.  The  old  man  seemed 
loth  to  part  with  it,  and  at  the  time  I  did  n't  stop  to 
consider  the  importance  of  having  it  to  show. 

"  It  was  ten  years  later,  when  at  last  I  saw  my  chance. 
I  had  been  prospecting  for  some  rich  Americans  at  a 
point  that  I  believed  to  be  within  at  most  four  days'  ride 
of  the  Indian's  rancho.  I  was  working  some  twenty 
odd  pconcs  and  had  been  left  in  full  control.  The  pros- 
pect looked  more  and  more  dubious  and  I  had  no  mind 
to   continue.     Neither  had   I   a   mind   to   throw   up   the 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  57 

sponge.  The  story  of  the  lost  '  Naranjal '  haunted 
me.  I  thought  of  it  by  day  and  at  last  one  night,  in  a 
dream,  I  saw  as  plain  as  I  see  you,  the  old  hacienda 
with  the  orange  trees  growing  all  about  it.  The  next  day 
I  picked  out  four  of  my  best  men,  took  what  money 
I  had  on  hand  and  prepared  to  hit  the  trail.  Of  course 
I  did  wrong  to  go  without  consulting  my  employers, 
but  I  had  '  El  Naranjal '  on  the  brain.  Besides  I  felt 
sure  of  success.  After  we  had  fairly  started,  I  began 
to  feel  anxious  about  my  old  Indian.  Was  he  living 
after  all  these  years?     I  wondered. 

"  The  journey  proved  longer  than  I  had  figured  on, 
but  the  night  of  the  fifth  day,  just  as  I  was  wondering 
if  I  could  have  missed  the  trail,  I  saw  the  familiar 
rancho.  I  went  to  the  door  with  a  beating  heart  and  was 
met  by  a  middle-aged  man,  whom  I  saw  at  once  was 
too  young  to  be  my  former  friend.  He  proved  to  be  his 
brother,  and  said  the  aged  Indian  had  been  dead  several 
years,  though  he  could  not  tell  how  many.  I  spent  the 
night  at  the  rancho  and  in  course  of  conversation 
touched  on  old  mines,  but  he  professed  the  densest 
ignorance  regarding  them.  At  last  I  asked  him  point 
blank  if  his  brother  had  never  told  him  of  his  discovery, 
adding  that  he  had  not  only  told  me  of  it,  but  offered 
to  direct  me  to  the  place.  For  a  second  he  eyed  me 
suspiciously.  Then  going  to  the  old  chest,  which  I  re- 
membered only  too  well  he  took  from  it  a  small,  black 
flask  and  holding  it  up  before  me,  asked  if  it  was  mine. 
For  a  moment  I  was  puzzled.  Then  like  a  flash  it  came 
to  me,  that  I  had  given  the  old  Indian  what  little  liquor 
it  contained  on  leaving  him.  I  answered  that  it  had 
once  been  mine,  but  that  I  had  given  it  to  his  brother. 
At  that  he  became  voluble  for  an  Indian.  He  said  his 
brother  had  always  looked  for  my  return  and  had  talked 


58  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

of  me  to  the  last,  instructing  him,  in  case  I  did  come, 
to  go  with  me  to  the  peak  of  the  mountain,  and  show 
me  the  old  trail.  I  was  wild  to  be  off  and  finally  per- 
suaded him  to  start  with  us  the  next  morning. 

"It  was  near  sunset  the  next  day  when  we  reached 
the  cone-shaped  peak,  and  the  old  man  got  off  his  mule 
and  began  scanning  the  slope  on  the  other  side.  At 
length  he  gave  a  satisfied  grunt  and  holding  aside  the 
tall  grass,  pointed  to  the  faint  semblance  of  a  trail.  I 
was  to  follow  that  trail  two  or  three  days,  he  said,  and  I 
should  see  the  hacienda.  He  then  put  out  his  hand. 
Greatly  surprised,  I  pressed  him  to  pass  the  night  with 
us ;  but  he  steadfastly  refused,  and  with  one  backward 
glance,  that  had  in  it  something  of  dread,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  abandoned  trail,  he  bade  me  '  Godspeed ' 
and  disappeared  in  the  darkness.  I  was  too  excited  to 
sleep  and  finally  got  up  and  sat  by  the  fire  till  day- 
break. We  started  as  soon  as  it  was  light  and  then 
began  one  of  the  hardest  jobs  I  had  ever  undertaken. 
It  is  not  always  a  simple  matter  to  keep  on  a  trail  that 
is  in  constant  use ;  and  when  it  comes  to  one  that  has 
not  been  used  for  half  a  century  or  more  it  is  next  to 
impossible.  Sometimes  we  lost  it  and  were  an  hour 
beating  about  in  the  brush,  before  we  found  it  again. 
We  had  to  walk,  as  the  animals  were  as  much  at  sea 
as  we  were ;  and  we  frequently  had  to  cut  our  way 
through  dense  growths  of  chaparral.  Sunset  found  us 
on  a  bare  ledge  of  rocks,  where  the  trail  disappeared, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  camp  there  for  the 
night. 

"  At  daybreak  we  began  hunting  for  the  trail,  and 
the  men  had  declared  repeatedly  there  was  an  end  of  it 
when  I  discovered  it,  doubling  on  itself  and  leading 
through  the  brush  again.     I  sent  two  men  ahead  with 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  59 

machetes  to  make  a  path,  and  we  followed  slowly,  leading 
the  animals.  Night  found  us  apparently  no  nearer  our 
goal.  We  were  still  descending  the  mountain,  and  on 
every  hand  stretched  the  limitless  chaparral.  I  have 
been  in  lonely  places,  but  never  one  like  that.  The  old 
man  had  talked  of  bears  and  tigers.  There  was  abso- 
lutely not  a  sign  of  life,  not  even  a  bird  save  an  oc- 
casional vulture,  sailing  overhead.  The  men  looked 
downcast  and  after  supper  one  of  them  came  and  asked 
me  to  turn  back.  He  said  his  companions  were  all 
triste  (sad)  and  '  afraid  we  were  going  to  the  death.' 
I  asked  him  why  they  thought  so  and  he  replied  be- 
cause the  vultures  had  followed  us  for  two  days.  For 
answer  I  told  him  to  make  ready  for  an  early  start  and 
assured  him  we  should  make  it  in  one  day  more.  Then 
I  rolled  myself  in  my  blankets. 

"  When  I  w^oke  it  was  not  yet  light,  but  before  I  had 
actually  opened  my  eyes,  I  knew  I  was  alone.  I  called 
out  but  there  was  no  reply.  The  cowards,  satisfied  that 
I  would  not  turn  back,  had  deserted  me  in  the  night ; 
and  when  daylight  came,  I  found  they  had  taken  the 
best  part  of  the  provisions.  I  cursed  them  till  I  was 
tired  out,  and  swore  with  every  oath  that  I  would  never 
give  up  till  I  had  seen  the  mine,  and  that  if  I  failed,  the 
vultures  were  welcome  to  my  carcass.  Then  I  started 
again,  hewing  my  way  with  a  machete,  that  had  luckily 
been  left  behind.  I  kept  on  all  day,  not  even  stopping  to 
eat  and  had  about  decided  to  give  it  up  until  the  follow- 
ing morning,  when  I  suddenly  came  to  a  part  of  the 
slope  that  seemed  a  wide  ledge  of  red  sandstone.  It 
was  devoid  of  vegetation  and  the  trail  was  sharply  de- 
fined, being  worn  deep  in  the  sandy  formation.  I  de- 
termined to  push  on,  relying  on  my  mule  to  keep  on 
the  trail. 


6o  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

"  It  was  now  so  dark  I  could  not  see  four  feet  ahead. 
My  mule  seemed  nervous  and  several  times  stood  stock- 
still.  I  got  off  repeatedly  and  groped  about  in  the  dark- 
ness, to  make  sure  I  was  still  on  the  trail.  I  had  just 
gotten  into  the  saddle  and  ridden  perhaps  five  rods 
further,  when  she  came  to  a  sudden  standstill,  snorted 
and  began  to  tremble.  I  urged  her  forward  but  she 
reared  and  tried  to  bolt  up  the  mountain.  I  turned  her 
about  and  forced  her  on  a  few  steps,  when  she  stopped 
again  and  showed  every  sign  of  extreme  terror.  Dis- 
mounting I  took  a  step  forward,  retaining  my  hold  on 
her  neck  and  it  was  well  I  did,  for  I  found  myself 
stepping  into  space,  and  only  saved  myself  by  hanging 
on  to  the  mule.  I  had  used  my  last  match  and  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  stay  my  hunger  as  best  I  could 
and  wait  for  daylight.  It  was  evident  that  I  had  reached 
some  sort  of  a  jumping-off  place ;  how  much  of  a  one  I 
should  know  in  the  morning. 

"  When  I  awoke  the  sun  was  high.  I  had  slept  from 
sheer  exhaustion,  but  I  was  provoked  at  finding  it  broad 
daylight.  It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  it  was  though, 
for  as  I  sprang  up  and  started  forward,  I  saw  that  I 
was  near  the  edge  of  a  precipice ;  and  the  thought  of 
my  close  shave  made  me  feel  hot  and  cold  by  turns. 
I  crept  nearer  and  saw  that  the  trail  ran  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  cliff,  which  had  the  appearance  of  a  moun- 
tain that  had  been  sliced  off  like  a  loaf  of  bread.  Crawl- 
ing to  the  edge,  I  looked  over  and  saw  a  perpendicular 
descent  of  thousands  of  feet,  which,  instead  of  sloping 
outward  at  the  base,  receded ;  and  at  either  side,  as  far 
as  I  could  see,  was  the  same  precipitous  wall.  The  bot- 
tom of  the  cafion  was  four  thousand  feet  below.  As  I 
scanned  it  hurriedly,  a  shining  line  of  silver  caught  my 
eye  —  a    river   of   course  —  and   there,   close  beside   it. 


The  foolish  compadre 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  63 

was  a  clump  of  bright  green  foliage,  with  patches  of 
white  that  could  be  nothing  less  than  the  walls  of  the 
hacienda.  Yes  there  was  '  El  Naranjal/  I  could  have 
sworn  it:  yet  no  desert  mirage  was  ever  more  inacces- 
sible. On  every  hand  towered  those  forbidding  cliffs. 
My  provisions  were  exhausted.  My  mule  was  ready  to 
drop  in  her  tracks.  I  knew  that  unless  I  turned  back 
and  made  the  rancho,  I  should  starve  to  death ;  on  look- 
ing up  I  saw  the  vultures  still  sailing  overhead.  I  sat 
for  hours,  gazing  at  that  patch  of  green,  till  I  could 
almost  see  the  outlines  of  the  buildings.  Once  I  thought 
I  heard  the  chime  of  a  bell.  At  last,  aroused  by  the 
burning  sun,  I  took  one  last  look  and  started  sadly  up 
the  mountain,  dragging  my  mule  after  me.  Even  then  I 
was  not  satisfied  to  go,  but  turned  again  and  again,  till 
I  could  no  longer  see  the  bottom  of  the  cafion. 

"  Before  night,  my  mule  lay  down  and  refused  to  stir. 
I  took  off  the  saddle  and  left  her.  After  that  I  lost 
sight  of  the  vultures.  Weary  as  I  was,  the  ascent  was 
much  quicker  than  going  the  other  way  and  after  three 
days  of  terrible  suffering,  I  reached  the  rancho,  only  to 
find  it  deserted.  I  managed  to  get  into  the  house  where 
I  found  a  little  corn.  That  night  I  chewed  corn  and 
drank  water.  The  next  day  I  made  tortillas  and  then 
set  out  for  Durango.  Falling  in  with  some  freighters,  I 
gladly  traveled  with  them,  and  part  of  the  way  had  a 
mule  to  ride.  When  I  reached  the  city,  I  wrote  a  full 
account  of  my  experience  to  my  employers.  I  had  some 
doubt  as  to  whether  they  would  believe  me,  and  while 
waiting  for  an  answer,  my  old  enemy  got  the  best  of 
me  and  I  went  on  a  spree.  It  ended  in  an  attack  of 
fever  and  when  I  came  to  my  senses  two  letters  were 
handed  me.  The  first  one  requested  me  to  come  at  once ; 
the  second  said  they  had  heard  of  my  goings  on  and 
4 


64  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

that  they  washed  their  hands  of  me.  I  told  my  story 
again  and  again,  but  no  one  took  any  stock  in  it  and  so 
for  the  second  time,  I  was  obliged  to  give  the  thing  up. 
I  shall  have  one  more  try  at  it  though :  I  am  waiting  for 
a  man  now  who  has  promised  me  an  outfit,  and  you 
may  be  sure  there  will  be  plenty  of  rope  to  get  down 
over  those  clififs  with.  I'm  going  to  find  '  El  Naranjal ' 
or  die  trying.  Who  knows !  You  may  see  me  on  Easy 
Street  yet !  " 

This  is  the  story  of  the  man  who  says  he  has  seen 
"  El  Naranjal."  Will  he  yet  reach  it  and  "  Easy 
Street  "  ?  Who  knows  ?  Meantime  the  ancient  hacienda 
sleeps  peacefully  among  the  orange  trees,  and  the  golden 
nuggets,  yellow  as  the  shining  fruit,  lie  hidden  away  in 
the  dark  chambers  of  the  old  mine. 

Another  lost  mine,  of  intense  interest  to  us,  was  right 
in  the  Huahuapan  district.  Its  name  was  "  La  Provi- 
dencia."  It  belonged  to  Don  Modesto,  the  grandee  of 
the  pueblo,  who  himself  discovered  it,  when  a  boy.  By 
agreement  with  his  heirs,  if  uncovered  by  our  peones, 
it  belonged  to  us  and  we  should  be  —  never  mind  — 
here  is  the  story. 

When  Don  Modesto  found  "  La  Providencia  "  he  was 
not  even  looking  for  it.  He  was  searching  for  stray 
burros  and  found  a  mine  instead.  Years  afterwards, 
when  he  did  look  for  it,  he  could  n't  find  it ;  and  he 
spent  the  rest  of  his  life  in  the  search.  He  died,  a 
tremulous,  white-haired  old  man;  but  he  had  never  for 
an  instant  abandoned  the  hope  of  finding  "  La  Provi- 
dencia "  again ;  and  he  willed  the  mine  together  with  all 
his  other  belongings  to  his  youngest  son  Juan,  who  wore 
white  cotton  clothes  and  sandals,  did  n't  know  his  own 
name  when  he  saw  it  written,  and  was  called  tonto 
(foolish)   by  the  rest  of  the  family. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  65 

Juan  liked  the  little  rancho  with  its  cows  and  pigs  well 
enough ;  but  when  it  came  to  the  mine,  he  never  even 
gave  it  a  second  thought.  His  experience  in  mining 
consisted  in  carrying  out  rocks  in  a  heavy  sack,  like  any 
beast  of  burden ;  and  he  was  glad  enough  to  have  it  over 
with.  His  brothers  and  sisters,  all  except  Tonia,  who 
like  himself  was  not  over-bright,  had  married  and  left 
the  old  house  years  before.  They  envied  Juan  the 
rancho,  and  the  cows  and  pigs,  but  not  the  mine.  Never- 
theless, Juan  was  and  is  the  ostensible  owner  of  "  La 
Providencia,"  one  of  the  richest  mines  of  its  size  the 
country  has  ever  known,  which  was  found  by  his  father 
Don  Modesto,  then  a  boy,  and  lost  by  his  grandfather 
Don  Domingo. 

To  begin  at  the  beginning,  when  Don  Modesto  was 
a  boy,  he  lived  in  this  pueblo.  In  addition  to  his  father's 
house,  there  were  perhaps  some  twenty  others ;  the  peo- 
ple were  all  so  poor,  they  lived  on  corn  and  beans,  and 
sometimes  there  was  not  enough  of  those. 

When  corn  and  beans  were  plenty,  the  men  would  put 
a  few  sacks  on  their  burros  and  take  them  off  over  the 
mountains,  to  trade  for  luxuries  such  as  salt,  sugar  and 
chocolate.  These  trips  were  of  rare  occurrence  and 
the  pueblo  was  practically  unknown,  until  one  day  all 
this  was  changed  by  Don  Modesto.  His  father,  Don 
Domingo,  sent  him  in  search  of  some  stray  burros  and  he 
spent  the  day  climbing  about  among  the  rocks.  As  he 
was  trotting  along  with  giiarache  shod  feet,  he  stubbed 
his  toe  on  a  rock  and  while  pretty  well  hardened  to 
stubbing,  this  time  it  hurt;  in  boyish  wrath  he  picked 
up  the  rock  and  started  to  throw  it  over  the  cliff.  But 
it  was  a  pretty  rock,  all  blue  and  green,  with  thin,  white 
scales  on  it,  that  glistened  like  the  cobwebs  on  the  grass, 
when    the    sun    touches    them.     And    there    were    little 


66  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

bright  yellow  specks,  the  color  of  the  candlesticks  in  the 
church.  He  concluded  to  keep  it  and  as  he  saw  no 
signs  of  the  burros  he  went  home,  expecting  at  least  a 
scolding,  and  to  be  started  on  a  further  search  before 
daybreak. 

When  Don  Domingo  saw  the  rock  in  the  boy's  hand, 
he  forgot  all  about  burros.  Don  Domingo  had  once 
worked  in  a  mine  and  he  knew  good  metal  when  he  saw 
it.  The  white  scales,  that  looked  like  cobwebs,  were 
native  silver ;  and  the  yellow  specks  tiny  particles  of  gold. 

Sure  enough,  the  boy  had  to  start  before  daybreak 
the  next  morning ;  but  Don  Domingo  went  with  him  and 
told  him  to  go  straight  to  the  place  where  he  had  stubbed 
his  toe.  Luckily  for  him  he  remembered  and  led  Don 
Domingo  there  just  as  the  sun  rose.  There  was  plenty 
more  rock  like  the  first  and  that  was  the  beginning  of 
"  La  Providencia."  Don  Domingo  named  the  mine. 
[He  was  a  good  Catholic  and  Providence  had  seen  fit,  in 
the  midst  of  his  poverty,  to  send  him  untold  riches.  He 
was  a  generous  man  and  everyone's  friend.  Nearly 
every  other  man  in  the  village  was  his  com  padre,  and 
those  who  were  not  compadres  were  relatives.  He  gave 
each  one  a  labor  in  the  new  mine,  which  meant  the 
privilege  to  take  out  all  the  metal  he  could.  Many  of 
the  compadres  started  tunnels  of  their  own,  lower  down 
the  ledge,  and  the  side  of  the  mountain  looked  like  a 
great  beehive  with  the  workers  toiling  in  and  out,  some- 
times laden  with  waste  but  oftcner  with  rich  metal. 
Rude  earthen  furnaces  were  constructed  in  the  village 
and  the  men  melted  the  ore  and  carried  the  big  chunks 
of  silver  over  the  mountains  to  the  cities,  returning  with 
food  and  clothing,  and  with  their  saddle  bags  filled  with 
big  silver  dollars.  Of  course  the  metal  brought  more 
than  the  ordinary  price  of  silver,  as  it  carried  gold:  the 


"  lie  kept  his  peons  at  work  in  the  mines 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  AIEXICO  69 

compadres  never  knew  just  how  much  gold,  nor  did  they 
care.  A  hundred  and  odd  hig,  silver  dollars  were  good 
enough,  for  a  few  hours'  work  at  the  mine  and  fourteen 
days'  ride  in  the  mountains.  One  did  n't  have  to  work 
very  hard  or  very  often  at  that  rate ;  for  where  was  the 
•use  in  filling  all  the  jars  in  the  house  with  silver  dollars  ? 

The  women  began  to  wear  silks  and  satins  and  huge 
gold  earrings,  and  the  men  had  silver  buttons  on  their 
trousers.  Aside  from  this  and  a  decided  affluence  in 
way  of  corn,  beans  and  cigarros,  there  was  slight  change 
in  the  life  of  the  pueblo.  The  men  worked  a  little  at 
their  labores,  and  ate  and  smoked  and  slept  a  great  deal. 
As  for  the  mine,  that  of  course  wopld  last  forever.  The 
only  one  who  made  any  extra  effort  to  get  the  big,  silver 
dollars,  was  Don  Domingo.  I  suspect  that  Don  Do- 
mingo had  good  blood  in  him.  Everything  he  did  goes 
to  show  it.  He  kept  his  peones  at  work  in  the  mine 
even  when  there  was  plenty  of  corn  and  beans ;  and  when 
every  jar  was  filled  with  dollars,  he  had  a  great  box 
made,  of  rawhide,  with  figures  of  animals  and  birds 
worked  on  the  cover.  The  box  was  filled  too,  and  the 
people  will  tell  you  to  this  day  how  any  of  Don  Do- 
mingo's friends  were  at  liberty  to  help  themselves.  The 
box  still  stands  in  the  old  house  of  Don  Modesto,  but 
there  are  no  dollars  in  it  now :  only  beans,  and  they 
often  get  so  low  you  can  see  the  bottom. 

Don  Domingo  kept  getting  out  more  metal  and  bring- 
ing home  more  silver  dollars.  He  sent  Don  ]\Iodesto 
away  to  school  and  gave  him  all  the  money  he  could 
spend.  He  built  himself  a  bigger  house  with  a  paved 
court  and  a  heavy  door  to  close  at  night  such  as  he  had 
seen  in  the  cities.  He  built  a  high  wall  about  the  church 
and  another  around  the  graveyard ;  and  had  a  big,  stone 
tomb  made,  which  was  destined  to  receive  his  own  re- 


70  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

mains.  All  this  cost  money  and  besides  his  relatives 
came  from  far  and  near  to  visit  him :  and  while  they 
all  came  very  poor,  they  never  went  away  without  a 
goodly  supply  of  dollars.  So  although  the  rawhide  box 
was  kept  filled,  Don  Domingo  never  found  it  necessary 
to  make  another.  Gradually  the  fame  of  the  mine  went* 
abroad,  and  people  came  flocking  into  the  pueblo,  though 
not  in  the  way  that  Northern  people  flock  to  a  mining 
region.  Perhaps  drifting  is  a  better  word.  All  who 
were  not  compadres  of  Don  Domingo's,  were  compadres 
of  his  compadres ;  and  all  got  labores  in  "  La  Provi- 
dencia." 

Don  Modesto,  meantime,  remained  away  at  college, 
w^here  he  learned  a  little  and  squandered  a  great  deal. 
Don  Domingo  kept  his  peones  at  work  in  the  mine  and 
tried  to  incite  his  compadres  to  follow  his  example ;  but 
they  grew  lazier  and  lazier  day  by  day,  and  finally,  strik- 
ing a  body  of  ore  that  was  not  quite  so  rich  as  formerly, 
began  taking  out  the  pillars  that  were  rich,  but  that 
should  have  been  left  to  support  the  roofs  of  their  tun- 
nels. When  Don  Domingo  learned  this,  he  was  furious 
and  threatened  to  drive  them  from  their  labores.  They 
promised  him  not  to  take  out  another  pillar,  but  the 
damage  was  already  done. 

There  are  two  rainy  seasons  in  Mexico ;  one  during  the 
summer  months,  when  it  pours  for  a  brief  space  daily 
and  is  followed  by  sunshine  and  budding  flowers  and  a 
brighter  green  on  grass  and  tree.  The  other  falls  in  the 
winter,  anywhere  from  December  to  March  or  even 
April.  In  the  mountains  the  clouds  hang  low  for  days, 
threatening,  lowering  and  then  suddenly,  without  warn- 
ing, the  storm  breaks  and  sweeps  everything  before  it. 
What  was  but  now  a  tiny  stream  becomes  a  raging  tor- 
rent.    Waterfalls  spring  into  existence  where  they  have 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  71 

never  been  before.  Trees  are  torn  up  by  the  roots  and 
huge  boulders  are  swept  along.  These  are  the  storms 
that  change  the  courses  of  rivers  in  a  night,  hollow  out 
still  deeper  the  canons  and  frequently  alter  the  entire  ap- 
pearance of  the  country.  Such  a  storm  struck  the 
pueblo  one  dark  December  morning.  The  men  were  all 
safe  in  their  houses.  They  had  been  expecting  it  and 
had  not  gone  to  their  labores  for  days.  More  water  fell 
than  they  had  ever  seen  before.  The  little  river  flooded 
its  banks  and  threatened  to  carry  away  the  pueblo.  Few 
of  the  houses  were  waterproof.  When  one  has  plenty 
of  corn  and  beans  and  money  to  buy  more,  what  does  it 
matter  if  the  roof  lacks  a  shingle  or  two? 

The  storm  raged  for  two  days  and  two  nights  and 
then  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun.  The  third 
morning  dawned,  soft  and  mild  as  a  northern  June,  and 
Don  Domingo,  who  was  tired  of  staying  in  his  house, 
even  though  it  was  a  good  one,  ordered  his  mule  saddled 
and  set  out  for  the  mine,  followed  by  his  peones.  A 
number  of  the  compadres,  who  had  eaten  more  than  usual 
during  their  enforced  stay  indoors  and  discovered  that 
their  supply  of  dollars  was  getting  lower,  decided  to  re- 
turn to  their  work  as  well.  They  accordingly  sauntered 
leisurely  up  the  mountain,  with  Don  Domingo  in  the 
lead.  He  rather  lorded  it  over  the  others,  and  always 
wore  a  big  hat  with  lots  of  silver  on  it,  pantalones  with 
silver  buttons,  and  shoes.  I  have  heard  Don  Modesto 
describe  him  as  he  rode  on  his  mule  at  the  head  of  the 
procession,  going  back  to  take  more  wealth  from  "  La 
Providencia." 

As  Don  Domingo  was  in  the  lead,  he  was  the  first  to 
see  that  something  was  wrong.  He  was  a  bit  in  ad- 
vance of  the  others,  and  he  thought  the  ground  looked 
strange.     Suddenly  he  came  to  the  top  of  a  little  rise 


'J2  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

and  stopped  his  mule  in  dismay.  Before  him  was  an 
unfamiliar  country.  Trees  were  twisted  and  torn  up 
bodily;  there  were  great  rocks  that  he  did  not  know  and 
at  his  feet  tumbled  a  noisy  mountain  stream.  For  a 
moment  he  thought  he  was  dreaming.  He  gazed  wildly 
about  him,  and  then  turning  his  mule,  went  flying  back 
towards  the  amazed  compadres  screaming,  "  It  is  lost ! 
The  mine  is  lost !  "  They  stared  at  him  in  bewilder- 
ment and  then  at  the  strange  scene  before  them.  The 
only  familiar  landmarks  were  the  distant  mountains. 
All  the  rest  was  changed.  The  trail,  the  labores,  every 
vestige  of  the  mine  had  disappeared. 

The  first  that  Don  Modesto  knew  of  the  catastrophe 
was  when  he  was  summoned  home  from  school.  He 
knew  something  was  wrong  the  moment  he  entered  the 
pueblo.  All  the  men  looked  crestfallen  except  Don 
Domingo.  He,  as  I  have  said,  had  good  blood  in  him, 
and  he  was  determined  to  find  the  mine.  He  had  a 
superstitious  feeling,  that  as  Don  Modesto  had  first  dis- 
covered it,  he  could  find  it  again;  but  although  they 
went  together,  that  day  and  many  more,  they  could  form 
no  definite  idea  as  to  what  had  happened.  The  fact  was 
a  portion  of  the  mountain  had  been  washed  away  and 
the  tunnels,  lacking  pillars  which  were  taken  out  by  the 
lazy  compadres,  had  all  caved  and  been  covered  up. 

Meantime  the  compadres  sat  idly  bemoaning  their  lot. 
They  had  few  dollars  left  and  no  heart  to  look  for  the 
lost  labores.  Don  Domingo  besought-  them  to  aid  in 
the  search  and  a  few  of  them  did,  at  least  while  his  dol- 
lars held  out:  but  now  there  was  no  rich  metal  to  bring 
in  more,  and  before  long,  not  only  the  big  box  but  the 
jars  were  empty.  Then  the  compadres  fell  off  and  went 
to  planting  corn  and  beans  again  and  some  went  to 
other  pueblos ;  only  Don  Domingo  kept  bravely  digging 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  AIEXICO  73 

away  on  the  mountain  and  Don  Modesto  helped  him. 
There  was  still  a  little  rancho  that  produced  more  corn 
than  the  family  required ;  and  year  after  year,  every 
cent  that  it  brought  went  into  those  holes  in  the  moun- 
tain. 

At  last  Don  Domingo,  now  grown  very  old,  took  to  his 
bed.  He  was  always  talking  of  going  back  to  work 
and  discussed  it  eagerly  with  Don  Modesto,  every  night 
when  the  latter  returned.  His  last  words,  before  he 
died,  were  a  parting  injunction  as  to  the  direction  of  the 
tunnel.  So  they  carried  him  to  the  tomb  that  he  had 
built  and  paid  for,  in  the  days  when  the  chest  was  full. 
To  Don  Modesto,  he  left  his  indomitable  spirit,  his 
rancho  and  — "  La  Providencia  " ;  and  Don  Modesto 
went  on  with  the  search.  Year  after  year  he  grew  poorer 
and  poorer,  as  the  crops  failed  or  were  eaten  by  insects, 
and  he  was  forced  to  sell  a  pig  or  another  cow.  He 
married  and  the  children  came  thick  and  fast.  The 
girls  grew  up  and  learned  to  help  the  mother,  Felipa, 
carrying  water  and  grinding  corn.  The  boys,  just  as 
soon  as  they  were  strong  enough  to  hold  a  drill  or  carry 
ore,  were  sent  to  w^ork  in  the  tunnel. 

Don  Modesto  grew  old  and  gray  as  his  father  had 
done  before  him ;  always  quiet  and  dignified,  respected 
by  all  the  people,  never  forgetting  that  his  father  had 
been  the  first  man  of  the  pueblo,  never  doubting  that 
eventually  he  should  come  into  his  own.  One  by  one 
the  sons  wearied  and  deserted  him,  going  to  live  in  other 
parts ;  all  except  his  favorite,  Canuto,  and  Juan,  the 
youngest,  who  was  only  fit  to  be  peon.  The  daughters, 
too,  married  and  went  away,  till  only  Tonia  remained  to 
help  old  Felipa.  Those  were  dark  days  for  Don 
Modesto.  The  mother  and  daughter  went  barefooted 
like  the  poorest  women  in  the  village.     Don   Modesto 


74  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

still  wore  shoes,  though  no  one  knew  how  he  managed 
it.  Perhaps  he  reahzed  that  if  he  once  stooped  to 
sandals,  the  dignity  of  the  family  was  gone  forever. 

By  this  time  there  were  but  two  at  work  in  the  tunnel 
which  had  become  a  labyrinth,  crossing  and  recrossing, 
up  and  down,  and  always  waste,  nothing  but  waste. 
Canuto  and  Juan  worked  together,  first  with  the  drill 
and  then  with  the  suron.  Don  Modesto  rode  the  little 
old  mule,  that  had  been  Don  Domingo's,  up  the  moun- 
tain every  morning,  flushed  with  hope ;  and  back  again 
at  night  sad,  disappointed,  but  never  actually  dis- 
couraged. As  for  Feiipa,  she  shared  his  conviction  that 
the  mine  would  yet  be  found. 

When  it  came  time  to  harvest  the  corn  and  beans, 
Juan  was  sent  to  the  rancho;  and  Canuto,  who  could 
not  work  alone  in  the  tunnel,  posted  off  to  some  mining 
camp,  and  earned  more  money,  to  go  on  with  the  hunt 
for  "  La  Providencia."  It  was  this  that  brought  the 
final  desgracia  and  broke  Don  Modesto's  heart  and 
spirit  at  the  same  time.  Canuto,  though  a  good  boy,  was 
a  bit  wild  and  fond  of  mescal.  He  was  also  a  stout 
friend.  One  day,  his  companion  at  a  fiesta  was  arrested. 
Both  had  been  drinking  and  he  flew  to  his  assistance. 
There  was  a  fight  and  Canuto  was  shot  to  death. 

Don  Modesto  never  recovered  from  the  blow.  Neither 
did  Feiipa,  but  when  the  first  shock  was  over,  she  settled 
again  into  the  old  routine  and  wanted  Don  Modesto  to 
go  back  to  his  tunnel.  He,  poor  man,  seemed  to  have 
lost  all  heart.  He  would  sit  for  hours  with  his  head 
bowed  between  his  hands,  or  pace  nervously  up  and 
down  the  patio,  without  speaking  to  a  soul.  Feiipa  said 
several  times  in  his  hearing,  that  it  worried  her  to  have 
a  man  about  the  place  all  the  time,  but  he  did  n't  seem 
to  notice.     Juan  also  took  to  loafing  around  home,  only 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  T^IEXICO  75 

going  to  the  rancho  occasionally  to  look  at  the  corn  and 
beans. 

Months  passed  and  Don  Modesto  remained  the  same. 
When  at  last  the  change  came,  no  one  knew  how  to 
account  for  it.  One  morning  he  got  up  before  it  was 
light  and  put  on  working  clothes  and  sandals  just  like 
a  peon.  Felipa  was  frightened  but  she,  wily  old  thing, 
pretended  to  take  it  as  a  matter  of  course  and  flew  about 
with  Tonia  making  an  extra  batch  of  tortillas.  Don 
Alodesto  called  Juan,  told  him  to  get  the  drills  and  the 
rest  of  the  mining  tools  and  together  they  started  up  the 
mountain.  Don  Modesto  was  walking.  To  be  sure  he 
only  carried  one  drill,  while  Juan  was  loaded  like  a  pack 
animal ;  but  the  mere  fact  of  his  carrying  anything  and 
dressing  like  a  peon  set  the  whole  town  agog;  and  the 
people  shook  their  heads  and  predicted  no  good  would 
come  of  it. 

When  they  returned,  late  that  night,  Don  Modesto's 
eyes  shone.  With  trembling  hands  he  produced  some 
pieces  of  rock  and  showed  them  to  Felipa.  They  were 
not  much  to  look  at  but  her  practised  eye  detected  silver. 
Yes,  he  had  struck  a  vein  and  it  was  rich  metal.  He 
was  sure  he  had  found  it  at  last.  Ah,  that  Canuto  were 
alive  now !  and  then  old  Felipa  began  to  cry  and  wail 
"  Adios  —  Adios !  "  just  as  she  had  when  their  boy  was 
killed. 

She  soon  stopped  crying  and  began  getting  supper, 
and  before  the  meal  was  over  all  were  quite  cheerful. 
The  next  day  they  went  again  to  the  tunnel,  and  the 
next;  and  then  a  burro  was  driven  up  and  came  back 
at  night,  loaded  with  ore.  The  pueblo  was  wild  with 
excitement.  Felipa  was  jubilant  and  as  the  other  women 
had  swarmed  into  the  patio,  she  began  ordering  them 
about,   setting  this  one  to   carrying  water  and   this  one 


76  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

to  grinding  corn.  Meantime  she  crouched  in  the  court 
and  smoked  one  cigarro  after  another.  Her  face 
was  partly  muffled  in  her  black  shawl,  but  her  old  eyes 
had  an  exultant  gleam.  Was  not  "  La  Providencia " 
found  ? 

Don  Modesto  told  Juan  to  start  the  fire  in  the  furnace 
and  he  himself  prepared  to  run  the  metal.  All  night 
they  worked  at  the  furnace.  Tonia,  who  but  half  com- 
prehended what  had  happened,  lay  down  on  her  mat 
and  slept ;  but  Felipa  crouched  all  night  in  the  court, 
where  she  could  see  the  flames,  and  smoked.  A  driz- 
zling rain  fell  and  Don  Modesto  was  drenched  to  the 
skin  but  he  hardly  knew  it.  When  morning  came  he 
had  nearly  fifty  ounces  of  silver.  He  was  shaking  all 
over  when  he  went  to  show  it  to  Felipa,  partly  from 
excitement,  but  more  from  cold  and  exhaustion.  Felipa 
was  as  excited  as  he  was.  She  told  him  to  lie  down, 
while  she  went  to  get  the  breakfast.  When  she  came 
back,  she  found  him  hot  with  fever,  tossing  and  mut- 
tering about  "  La  Providencia  "  and  his  dead  boy  Canuto. 
Felipa  sent  Juan  to  the  mine  for  more  metal  and  she 
and  Tonia  set  about  doctoring  Don  Modesto,  who  grew 
steadily  worse.  When  Juan  came  home  at  night,  she 
told  him  to  saddle  the  little  mule  and  go  at  once  to  call 
the  other  children ;  to  tell  them  "  La  Providencia  "  was; 
found  and  that  Don  Modesto  was  very  ill. 

They  came  fast  enough,  and  inquired  for  their  father 
and  the  mine  in  the  same  breath.  Was  he  very  ill  — 
was  the  mine  really  found?  Yes,  he  was  very  ill, — 
dying  in  fact,  and  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well.  The 
mine  was  not  found  at  all.  It  was  only  a  little  hilo 
(thread)  Don  Modesto  had  run  into,  and  there  was  no 
more  of  it.  The  compadres  had  worked  the  second 
burro-load  in  the   furnace  but  it  gave  little  or  nothing. 


^M 

■^9Bk[^ 

A.  ir 

^Hp.  ._^_-»5 

JjUl 

^^^^ 

Igjllll 

Mrijj^^^^^^' 

1 

The  funeral  procession 


I'rayers  in  the  little  church 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  79 

Then   they   went   to   the   tunnel   and   looked   for   them- 
selves. 

This  point  settled,  there  was  nothing  left  to  do  but 
watch  Don  Modesto  die.  A  hurried  search  was  made 
for  a  will  and  not  finding  one,  the  brothers  and  sisters 
got  a  man  who  could  write,  to  set  down  all  his  posses- 
sions on  paper,  in  case  he  revived  sufficiently  to  signify 
who  was  to  have  them.  By  this  time  it  was  dark  and 
they  gathered  at  the  bedside.  Candles  were  lighted 
and  a  woman  began  rapidly  saying  the  prayers  for  the 
dying.  Felipa  crouched  motionless  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed,  her  head  muffled  in  her  black  shawl.  Tonia  was  in 
a  corner,  sobbing  aloud,  and  Juan  knelt  by  his  father, 
his  poor,  simple  face  streaming  with  tears.  Suddenly  an 
old  crone  set  up  the  death-wail.  As  her  voice  shrilled 
it  was  taken  up  by  the  others.  The  woman  prayed 
louder  and  faster  and  the  oldest  son  sprang  on  the  bed 
and  began  winding  Don  Modesto's  left  hand  and  arm 
with  long  strips  of  coarse  white  cloth.  He  had  finished 
the  left  arm  and  was  well  along  with  the  right,  when 
Don  Modesto  opened  his  eyes.  He  knew  his  hour 
had  come.  He  heard  the  death-wail,  saw  the  wind- 
ing sheet,  and  still  the  brave  old  spirit  asserted  itself. 
He  struggled  to  raise  his  head  and  Juan  got  on  the  bed 
back  of  him  and  lifted  him  up.  Then  some  one  brought 
the  paper  and  held  it  close  to  his  eyes.  He  scanned  it 
closely  and  they  knew  from  his  look  he  understood ;  but 
when  he  came  to  the  end  he  frowned  and  tried  in  vain 
to  speak.  Then  Felipa  bent  over  and  whispered,  "  La 
Providencia  ?  "  He  nodded  and  they  remembered  they 
had  not  even  put  the  mine  in  the  will.  So  the  man  who 
could  write  added  "  La  Mina  Providencia "  and  then 
they  asked  him  how  he  wanted  the  things  divided.  This 
time  they  clearly  heard  him  say  "  Juan."     Was  Juan  to 


8o  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

have  everything  they  asked  in  dismay  and  he  nodded 
again.  The  others  were  furious  but  could  do  nothing; 
so  the  scribe  wrote  "  to  my  son  Juan  "  and  held  out  the 
pen  to  Don  Modesto,  who  looked  fretfully  at  his  right 
hand,  which  was  partially  wrapped  in  the  grave  clothes. 
They  had  to  unwind  them  and  the  pen  was  placed  in  his 
nerveless  fingers.  For  a  moment  it  looked  as  though 
he  could  not  sign ;  then  slowly,  feebly  he  began  to  make 
the  elaborate  scroll,  that  he  always  put  under  his  name 
and  that  should  .  have  come  last.  They  thought  his 
strength  would  fail ;  but  when  the  scroll  was  completed, 
with  every  dash  and  flourish  that  belonged  to  it,  he 
traced  his  name  above  it  in  tremulous  characters  and  fell 
back  exhausted  against  Juan's  knee.  The  oldest  son 
began  rapidly  winding  his  right  hand  again,  and  this  time 
Don  Modesto  did  not  open  his  eyes. 

The  fifty  ounces  of  silver  paid  for  a  burial  befitting 
Don  Modesto's  station ;  and  Felipa  bought  yards  and 
yards  of  black  calico,  with  which  the  compadres  fes- 
tooned the  front  of  the  house.  Don  Modesto  lay  in 
state  for  three  days.  He  looked  very  peaceful  with  his 
silvery  hair  and  beard  and  a  decent  suit  of  black,  which 
the  women  declared  Felipa  had  kept  hidden  away  ever 
since  their  wedding.  On  the  fourth  day,  there  were 
prayers  in  the  little  church,  and  he  was  borne  up  the 
mountain,  for  the  last  time,  on  the  shoulders  of  his 
compadres.  The  women  and  children  followed,  wailing 
and  tossing  their  arms  wildly  above  their  heads.  A 
tomb  had  been  built  of  stone,  just  like  Don  Domingo's, 
and  there  Don  Modesto  sleeps  by  his  father's  side. 

Felipa  mourned  for  a  time  and  then,  with  Indian 
resignation,  took  up  her  old  life ;  and  Juan,  who  was 
glad  enough  to  get  through  carrying  ore,  went  back  to 
his    corn   and   beans.     On    rare   occasions,    such    as    his 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  8i 

dia  Santo  or  some  special  fiesta,  he  puts  on  the  trousers 
with  the  silver  buttons,  that  were  Don  Modesto's,  and 
the  big  hat.  Juan  cannot  endure  shoes,  and  bare,  brown 
feet  make  rather  a  queer  tapering  off  to  so  much  splen- 
dor ;  but  they  don't  show  much  as  he  lolls  within  the 
door,  smoking  his  cigarro.  Then  the  people,  remember- 
ing the  past  greatness  of  the  family,  tip  their  hats  lazily, 
salute  him  as  "  Don  Juan  "  and  tell  again  the  story  of 
the  wonderful  mine,  that  once  made  the  pueblo  rich ; 
the  long-lost  "  La  Providencia." 


CHAPTER  IV 

Leaving  the  Mines:  A  Last  Ride:  The  Thoughts  of  a  Mozo: 
A  Meeting  on  the  Train :  A  Man  is  Known  by  his  Shoes : 
Pleasant  Experiences  in  Zacatecas :  Arrival  at  Mexico  City: 
Kindness  of  Mexicans  to  Strangers :  The  Best  Way  to  Learn 
Spanish :  The  Plaza  Mayor :  Cathedral  Towers :  Thoughts 
of  the  Conquest :  The  Paseo  de  la  Refonna:  A  Meeting  with 
Diaz. 

OF  all  the  prospects  in  the  Hiiahuapan  district, 
"  La  Proviclencia  "  was  our  favorite.  All  the 
traditions  of  the  pueblo,  concerning  its  former 
wealth,  centered  in  that  mine.  The  survivors  of  the 
family  that  had  owned  it,  though  now  very  poor,  were 
treated  with  deference  by  the  people ;  and  they  main- 
tained an  evident  family  pride.  There  seemed  slight 
cause  to  doubt  that  the  mine  had  existed,  or  that  it 
had  been  very  rich.  To  this  the  people  all  agreed  with- 
out dissent.  And  for  tangible  evidence  that  its  owner 
had  made  dogged  and  courageous  efforts  to  find  if,  after 
it  was  lost,  there  were  interminable  tunnels,  cross-cuts 
and  shafts  remaining.  Into  these  Don  Alfredo  put  his 
workmen  and  his  money.  He  believed  in  "  La  Provi- 
dencia  "  and  was  determined  to  find  out  what  was  inside 
that  mountain ;  he  said  this  knowledge  was  essential  for 
his  peace  of  mind,  and  he  was  willing  to  pay  for  it. 

Nearly  a  year  passed,  and  although  several  very  rich 
pockets  were  found,  la  veta  (the  vein)  eluded  us.  In 
some  of  the  other  prospects,  "  blankets  "  of  rich  ore  came 
to  light,  but  none  were  continuous.     The  country  gave 

82 


THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO  83 

evidence  of  gigantic  upheavals,  which  might  well  have 
broken  up  the  ledges,  and  this  theory  coincided  with 
that  of  the  older  men  in  the  pueblo.  I  had  evolved  an 
idea  which  I  jealously  guarded.  I  believed  the  valley 
too  beautiful  to  offer  material  wealth  as  well.  It  con- 
tinued for  me  a  sort  of  paradise,  and  I  tried  in  vain 
to  banish  the  fear  that  in  the  end  we  should  be  forced, 
by-  circumstances,  to  leave  it.  We  had  visited  other 
camps,  where  the  mines  were  big  producers ;  but  when 
that  was  said,  there  was  no  more  to  say.  There  was 
plenty  of  everything  in  those  camps,  food,  drink  and 
money.  But  no  happiness  that  I  could  see !  And  the 
surroundings  were  barren  and  desolate :  every  vestige  of 
green  was  trampled  by  the  pack-trains  carrying  out  the 
silver.  True,  there  was  generous  hospitality  and  the 
comradeship  of  men  of  our  own  race.  But  in  the  mines 
even  friendship  is  marred  by  the  feverish  lust  for  gold. 
Returning  from  these  camps,  with  prosperity  strong 
in  our  nostrils,  Don  Alfredo  and  I  were  at  first  inclined 
to  be  gloomy.  The  ride  was  usually  a  matter  of  a 
day,  however,  and  it  was  impossible  to  be  gloomy,  for 
twelve  consecutive  hours,  in  those  glorious  mountains. 
When  we  gained  the  last  summit  and  gazed  on  the  valley 
of  Huahuapan,  we  invariably  began  praising  it  for  its 
beauty.  Don  Alfredo  would  then  say  with  emphasis 
that  all  it  needed,  to  make  it  the  finest  camp  in  the  world, 
was  a  good  mine.  If  by  chance  we  had  left  "La  Provi- 
dencia"  in  metal,  he  would  begin  planning  the  survey 
for  a  pipe-line,  and  would  point  out  a  favorable  site  for 
a  mill.  With  me,  however,  the  guilty  conviction  grew 
that  it  would  be  impossible  to  build  pipe-lines  and  tram- 
ways and  erect  a  mill,  without  hopelessly  disfiguring  the 
valley. 

When  the  blow  came,  it  was  a  sudden  one  and  that 
5 


84  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

was  well.  Don  Alfredo  returned  alone  one  day,  from 
an  extended  prospecting  tour,  and  told  us  that  he  had 
"  denounced "  another  mine.  It  was  situated  in  the 
hot  country,  on  the  other  side  of  the  mountains,  and 
was  two  days'  ride  from  the  valley.  We  decided  that 
to  break  up  camp  and  go  at  once  was  the  only  way. 
We  were  fond  of  the  people  and  they  of  us.  We  had 
nursed  their  sick  and  tended  their  wounded.  And  the 
people  had  long  since  accepted  us.  Their  thoughtful 
kindnesses  to  us  were  unvarying,  and  between  us  there 
had  grown  a  bond  of  mutual  trust.  We  were  sad  indeed 
when  we  bade  them  good-by  and  took  leave  of  the  valley 
of  Huahuapan.  That  the  people  were  truly  sorry  too, 
I  know.  Yet  we  felt  the  parting  more.  They  had  their 
"  matter-of-course  "  psychology  to  console  them. 

For  two  days  we  journeyed  coastward,  over  those 
gigantic  ranges,  down  the  western  slopes  toward  the 
Pacific.  The  new  mine  was  in  the  State  of  Sinaloa  at 
an  altitude  of  not  over  fifteen  hundred  feet.  Once  ar- 
rived there,  Don  Alfredo  imperturbably  went  about  sur- 
veying, while  Doiia  Marciana,  likewise  unperturbed, 
again  assumed  her  natural  office  of  homemaker.  I  felt 
the  irresistible  desire  to  travel ;  to  become  acquainted 
with  Mexico  and  the  Mexican  people.  The  year  I  had 
spent  in  the  valley  with  my  friends  had  been  a  happy 
one.  It  was  comparable  amost  to  rebirth,  amid  flawless, 
natural  environment  and  with  the  constant  uplift  and  in- 
spiration of  the  mountains.  The  region  we  were  now 
in  was  commonplace,  by  comparison,  and  while  the  fu- 
ture of  the  new  mine  seemed  assured,  before  me  stretched 
an  unattractive  vista  of  dull  monotonous  years.  The 
present  was  insistently  calling.  I  knew  that  beyond  the 
mountains  was  the  real  Mexico  with  its  opulent  cities, 
its  splendid  architecture,  and  its  wealth  of  romance  and 


THE  I^IAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  85 

beauty.  These  were  the  things  which  more  than  gold 
had  called  me  to  Mexico.  My  friends  reasoned  in  vain, 
Don  Alfredo  particularly  dwelling  on  the  fine  promise 
of  the  new  mine.  The  low,  hot  country  palled  upon  me. 
I  was  resolved  to  have  a  last,  long  ride  through  the 
mountains,  and  then  take  train  for  Mexico  City. 

The  month  was  May,  the  rains  being  close  at  hand. 
I  began  preparations  for  my  journey,  and  at  the  thought 
of  all  the  strange  and  delightful  experiences  before 
me,  my  animation  returned.  I  had  engaged  an 
excellent  and  favorite  mozo,  but  at  the  last  he  fell  ill 
with  fever,  and  I  was  forced  to  take  a  mozo  named 
Antonio,  whom  I  had  never  liked.  He  was  a  superior 
type,  quite  white,  and  of  good  repute  as  a  guide ;  but 
he  had  impressed  me  as  sullen  and  discontented,  and  I 
always  set  store  by  a  cheerful  mozo.  At  last  my  luggage 
and  grub-box  were  ready.  Dona  Marciana  and  her  In- 
dian maid  had  been  engaged  for  days  in  preparing  various 
comestibles ;  and  while  there  was  an  abundance  of 
tortillas,  there  were  also  several  loaves  of  American 
bread. 

Don  Alfredo,  true  to  California  tradition,  placed  his 
purse  at  my  disposal  and  endeavored  to  force  upon  me 
sundry  substantial  sums,  which  I  gratefully  rejected.  I 
had  ample  funds  for  at  least  a  year,  and  I  was  confident 
I  could  earn  more  before  they  were  exhausted.  For  the 
rest,  money  borrowed  is  money  to  be  repaid;  and  I  have 
found  it  easier  to  avoid  all  such  dealing. 

It  was  hard  to  leave  those  kind  and  true  friends,  but 
I  promised  that  after  I  had  traveled  through  Mexico  I 
would  return,  and  the  thought  of  a  not  distant  reunion 
made  us  more  cheerful.  Antonio  being  ready  for  the 
start,  with  the  two  pack-mules  headed  up  the  trail,  I 
climbed  into  the  saddle  and  with  a  parting  "  Adios !  "  I 


86  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

turned  my  face  once  more  towards  the  mountains. 
Soon  all  sights  and  sounds  of  mining  industry  were  left 
behind.  Again  I  was  amid  the  silent,  fragrant  pines. 
As  we  ascended  my  spirits  rose  and  the  charm  of  life 
returned.  I  felt  as  though  casting  off  a  sort  of  malig- 
nant miasma ;  and  foolish  though  it  may  seem,  I  in- 
variably experience  this  sensation  when  departing  from 
the  mines  into  the  mountains. 

While  I  had  known  excellent  mozos,  Antonio  sur- 
passed them  all  for  service.  He  was  faultless.  He  was 
lithe,  active,  very  quick  on  his  feet,  and  careful  with  the 
mules.  When  we  halted  for  the  night,  he  had  the  sad- 
dles and  freight  off  the  animals  in  a  flash,  piled  for  me 
a  couch  of  pine  boughs,  and  deftly  prepared  and  served 
the  supper.  As  I  have  said,  he  was  quite  white  and 
seemingly  intelligent.  But  he  was  extremely  taciturn. 
The  first  night,  after  he  had  brought  my  supper,  I  bade 
him  eat.  With  expressionless  face  he  declined,  saying 
he  would  eat  when  I  had  finished.  There  was  a  finality 
in  his  tone  which  did  not  brook  further  condescension. 
And  while  condescension  was  far  from  my  intent,  it 
seemed  that  for  him  it  could  have  no  other  meaning. 
When  I  turned  in,  Antonio  carefully  spread  my  blankets 
and  tucked  them  under ;  he  would  then  crouch  before  the 
fire  and  smoke,  looking  fixedly  at  the  flames.  What 
were  his  thoughts?  I  observed  his  well-formed  hands 
and  feet,  his  shapely  head,  and  thought  he  probably 
came  of  good  stock.  I  wondered  whether  he  held  the 
same  opinion,  and  chafed  at  being  only  a  mozo.  In 
no  other  way  could  I  account  for  his  sullen  manner  and 
manifest  discontent.  He  never  neglected  his  duties,  but 
would  spring  up  from  sound  sleep  and  run  swiftly 
through  the  chaparral  to  keep  the  mules  from  straying 
too  far  from  camp.     Still  I  did  not  like  him. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  87 

The  weather  was  fine  and  we  had  covered  ground 
each  day,  Antonio  knowing  all  the  short  cuts  to  save  dis- 
tance. He  said  we  should  make  Durango  on  the  fourth 
day.  For  my  part,  I  was  in  no  hurry,  for  this  was  to 
be  my  last  ride  in  the  mountains.  I  was  enjoying  every 
hour  and  was  even  becoming  reconciled  to  my  mozo. 
The  third  night  we  passed  in  the  uplands.  The  cold  was 
intense  and  I  woke  with  a  start,  about  midnight.  An- 
tonio was  sitting  by  the  fire  with  his  brooding  gaze  upon 
me.  His  eyes  met  mine,  cold  and  inscrutable.  It 
seemed  his  thought  was  scarcely  friendly.  I  inquired 
for  the  mules,  and  asked  him  if  he  was  cold.  He  said  the 
mules  were  all  right  but  was  noncommittal  as  to  the 
cold.  When  I  suggested  cofit'ee  he  quickly  brewed  some 
and  to  my  surprise,  he  drank  a  cup  while  I  was  drinking 
mine. 

We  made  Durango  City  on  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth 
day.  Since  the  previous  night  I  had  felt  more  friendly 
toward  Antonio ;  and  I  was  grieved  at  his  asking  me  to 
loan  him  a  hundred  dollars.  His  face  lowered  and  his 
eyes  gleamed  when  I  declined.  I  suppose  he  thought 
I  was  rich.  I  gave  him  a  handsome  gratuity,  in  addition 
to  his  regular  fee ;  but  he  took  leave  of  me  with  a  scowl. 
A  month  after  that  he  shot  a  man  from  his  own  pueblo 
for  a  price.  The  man  was  a  desperado,  and  the  jcfc 
politico  had  ofifered  a  hundred  dollars  for  his  removal. 
So  Antonio  got  the  sum  he  was  in  need  of  after  all. 

Travel  in  the  mountains  being  now  at  an  end,  I  de- 
cided to  sell  my  mule.  True  to  herself,  she  had  pre- 
served her  antipathy  toward  me  to  the  last.  If  she  was 
not  glad  to  find  another  master,  she  at  least  was  not 
sorry  to  leave  her  former  one.  I  also  parted  with  my 
saddle  and  rifle.  I  had  still  some  clothes  in  my  trunks  that 
were  good  enough  for  city  wear,  but  my  stock  of  Ameri- 


88  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

can  shoes  was  exhausted.  Before  leaving  the  mines, 
I  had  the  forethought  to  write  home  for  a  pair  to  be  sent 
by  parcel-post,  and  to  my  satisfaction  I  found  them 
awaiting  me  in  the  post-office  at  Durango. 

The  following  day  I  took  train  for  Torreon,  from 
whence  I  should  proceed  to  Mexico  City.  As  I  found 
my  seat  in  the  Pullman,  a  lady  and  gentleman,  apparently 
Americans,  entered  the  opposite  section.  I  judged  that 
they  were  man  and  wife,  that  they  were  just  turned 
thirty  and  that  they  were  from  New  England.  I  longed 
for  society,  yet  felt  a  sort  of  shyness  that  must  have  been 
due  to  my  year  in  the  mountains.  I  found  a  book  and 
began  to  read,  but  so  attractive  were  my  neighbors,  I 
found  reading  out  of  the  question.  Soon  the  gentleman 
asked  to  see  my  railroad  folder  and  in  this  way  the  ice 
was  broken.  Their  manners  were  as  charming  as  their 
appearance,  and  our  acquaintance  ripened  quickly. 
"  Are  you  from  the  United  States  ?  "  they  asked,  almost 
simultaneously.  And  at  my  replying  that  I  was,  they 
exchanged  glances. 

"But  how  did  you  guess  I  was  an  American?"  I 
asked. 

"  By  your  shoes ! "  they  announced  with  triumph, 
"and  it  was  so  good  to  see  a  brand  new  pair  of  Ameri- 
can shoes  in  Mexico." 

My  new  friends,  whom  I  will  call  the  Howards,  in- 
tended to  stop  over  a  day  at  Zacatecas,  and  I  asked  leave 
to  join  them.  We  arrived  in  the  early  evening  and 
found  lodging  in  "  El  Zacatecano,"  an  old  convent  re- 
stored as  a  hotel  and  with  much  architcctual  merit, 
especially  in  the  patio.  After  the  ecu  a  or  supper,  which 
in  Mexico  is  a  substantial  repast  with  always  at  least 
one  meat  course,  we  went  to  the  plaza  to  hear  the  band, 
which  was  under  the  leadership  of  that  splendid  maestro, 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  91 

Fernando  Villalpando.  How  can  any  one  be  sad  in 
Mexico  on  a  summer's  night,  with  a  Mexican  band  play- 
ing the  alluring  airs  of  the  country? 

Mrs.  Howard,  who  was  a  finished  musician,  was  en- 
chanted and  insisted  on  expressing  our  thanks  for  the 
pleasure  the  concert  had  given.  We  found  Sr.  Vil- 
lalpando a  charming  and  courteous  man  and  after  we 
had  bidden  him  good  night,  he  had  the  band  play  "  La 
Golondrina,"  out  of  compliment  to  the  fair  stranger  who 
had  expressed  admiration  for  it.  It  was  then  I  heard 
that  lovely  and  plaintive  air  for  the  first  time,  and  my 
fondness  for  it  has  only  increased  with  the  years.  The 
verse  is  of  Spanish  origin  and  describes  the  sorrows  of 
the  Moorish  ruler,  Aben  Hamet,  on  leaving  his  home  in 
Granada,  when  Ferdinand  and  Isabel  expelled  the  Moors 
from  Spain.     The  first  verse  is  as  follows  :  — 

"  Aben  Hamet,  al  partir  de  Granada, 
Su  corazon  desgarrado  sintio : 
Alia  en  la  Vega,  al  perderla  de  la  vista, 
Con  debil  voz  su  lamento  epreso :  — 

*  Mansion  de  artiores  !  Celestial  paraiso ! 
Naci  en  tu  seno  do '  mil  dichas  goze ; 
Voy  a  partir  a  lejanas  regiones, 

De  donde  nunca  jamas  volvere.' " 

"Aben  Hamet  in  parting  from  Granada, 
Felt  his  heart  torn  : 

There  on  the  Vega,  when  it  was  lost  to  sight. 
With  faint  voice  he  made  lament :  — 

*  Mansion  of  loves  !     Celestial   Paradise ! 

I  was  born  on  thy  bosom  where  I  knew  a  thousand 

joys; 
Now  I  depart  to  distant  regions. 
From  whence  I  shall  never — ■never  return.'" 

I  have  heard  that  in  the  dwellings  of  the  Spanish 
Moors   in  Africa  there  still   hang  the  massive   keys  to 


92  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

their  lost  homes  in  Granada ;  and  that  for  generations 
they  cherished  the  hope  to  return.  Such  is  man's  love  of 
home. 

The  next  day  we  visited  the  training  school  for  boys, 
at  Sr.  Villalpando's  invitation,  and  heard  the  boys'  band, 
made  up  of  youngsters  all  the  way  from  ten  years  up- 
ward. They  showed  the  effect  of  training  by  a  master 
hand  and  played  astonishingly  well,  rendering  both 
Mexican  and  American  airs :  among  them  I  remember 
"  Hail  Columbia  "  and  "  La  Paloma." 

Directly  after  dinner  we  set  out  to  visit  the  Church 
of  Guadalupe,  which  is  very  famous,  both  architecturally 
and  for  its  paintings.  This  church,  which  is  in  the  en- 
virons of  Zacatecas,  is  reached  by  street  car.  On  the 
car  I  made  an  inquiry  of  a  young  man  who  sat  next  to  me 
and  he  replied  in  excellent  English.  Lie  proved  an  in- 
teresting talker  and  we  chatted  together  during  the  rest 
of  the  journey.  As  we  were  leaving  the  car,  INIr,  How- 
ard whispered,  "  Ask  him  to  go  with  us,"  and  I  lost  no 
time  in  issuing  the  invitation,  which  my  new  acquaint- 
ance gracefully  accepted,  as  though  receiving  an  atten- 
tion instead  of  granting  one.  We  discovered  later  that 
he  had  put  himself  out  not  a  little,  for  he  was  an  attor- 
ney and  had  gone  there  on  business ;  but  with  him,  as 
with  the  majority  of  the  Mexicans,  courtesy  to  strangers 
was  of  first  importance. 

It  is  an  easy  matter  to  see  Mexico's  churches,  if  one 
is  satisfied  with  merely  entering  the  church  and  perhaps 
penetrating  as  far  as  the  sacristy.  To  go  further,  an 
introduction  is  indispensable.  Our  new  acquaintance, 
whose  name  was  Sr.  Ramirez,  readily  secured  permis- 
sion for  us  to  go  wherever  we  liked ;  and  with  him  we 
visited  the  ancient  convent,  and  ascended  mysterious 
stairways  leading  into  dark  and  silent  corridors,  whose 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  93 

walls  were  hung  with  ancient  paintings,  dim  with  dust 
and  age.  Meantime  Sr.  Ramirez,  who  was  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  history  of  the  church,  related  many 
interesting  and  thrilling  events  that  had  transpired  there. 

On  our  way  back  to  the  hotel,  I  told  Sr.  Rami- 
rez that  Mrs.  Howard  sang  charmingly.  At  that  he 
had  a  brilliant  idea:  he  declared  that  he  should  organize 
a  musical  without  delay  and  that  it  should  take 
place  that  very  night.  In  the  evening  he  appeared 
and  announced  that  all  was  arranged.  He  escorted 
us  to  the  rooms  of  the  club,  of  which  he  was  a 
member,  where  a  party  of  his  friends  were  already 
assembled  to  receive  us.  Then  followed  one  of  the 
most  delightful  evenings  of  my  experience.  There 
was  that  slight  strangeness  on  both  sides,  that  lent  a 
piquancy  to  the  most  trivial  event ;  and  there  was, 
at  the  same  time,  that  sympathy  that  immediately  ob- 
tains amongst  music  lovers,  despite  the  fact  that  they 
may  have  met  for  the  first  and  the  last  time.  I  remember 
that  we  had  the  serenade  of  Braga,  with  violin  obligato. 
One  of  the  young  men  played  Beethoven  superbly  and 
the  violinist  had  magic  in  his  finger  tips.  There  were 
Mexican  dan::as,  and  English  songs  rendered  by  Mrs. 
Howard :  of  the  latter,  I  think  "  Annie  Laurie  "  made 
the  greatest  impression.  It  seems  to  have  been  written 
not  for  the  Saxon  race  alone,  but  for  all  men  alike ;  ap- 
pealing with  the  sweet  melody,  even  when  the  verse  is 
not  understood. 

We  were  amazed  to  find  it  was  midnight  and  still  we 
lingered  for  one  more  song.  When  we  reached  our 
hotel  we  found  a  parcel  awaiting  us.  It  was  a  present 
from  Sr.  Villalpando :  a  copy  for  each  of  us  of  his 
magnificent  "  Marcha  Funebre,"  which  was  rendered  at 
the  funeral  of  Victor  Hugo. 


94  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

As  I  recall  that  night  the  face  of  the  violinist  comes 
back  most  vividly.  It  is  strange  what  slight  things  make 
a  lasting  impression.  On  the  night  of  the  musical,  wine 
was  served  and  as  we  were  taking  it,  I  noticed  this  youth 
hovering  near  the  chair  of  the  American  senora.  He 
was  a  handsome  fellow,  quite  fair,  with  a  bright,  boyish 
face  and  graceful  bearing.  Several  others  surrounded 
her,  engaging  her  in  conversation ;  this  boy  seemed 
worshiping  from  a  distance.  Suddenly  he  darted  for- 
w^ard  and  the  next  instant  he  was  bending  before  her 
to  take  the  wine  glass.  It  was  that  he  had  been  waiting 
for.  There  was  a  charming  savor  of  old-time  gallantry 
in  the  act.  While  other  courtiers  had  vied  for  the  lady's 
favor,  this  knight  stood  by,  waiting  to  serve  her.  That 
boy  was  subsequently  killed  by  a  rival  in  love.  I  have 
received  an  account  of  the  tragedy,  but  what  is  the  use 
of  repeating  it?  The  bright  young  life  is  gone  out  and 
no  bitter  words  of  mine  can  bring  it  back.  I  shall  re- 
member him  as  he  played  the  "  Angel's  Serenade,"  with 
his  cheek  bent  lovingly  to  the  violin ;  and  later,  as  he 
stood  waiting  to  take  the  wine  glass  of  the  American 
senora. 

Throughout  our  stay  Sr.  Ramirez  was  unfailing  in 
his  attention.  With  him,  we  saw  the  churches  and  the 
schools  and  under  his  guidance  we  made  our  pilgrimage 
to  the  little  chapel  on  the  heights,  cl  Santuario  de  la 
Bit  fa,  where  many  of  the  devout  go  to  pray  daily,  and 
where  all  Zacatecas  repairs,  once  a  year,  during  the  feast 
attending  the  anniversary  of  its  consecration. 

The  following  morning,  he  presented  me  with  a  paper 
on  which  were  neatly  written  a  number  of  important 
datos,  regarding  the  history  of  the  city.  This  was  en- 
tirely his  own  idea  and  I   felt  duly  grateful.     He  had 


'^^^f%  '1 


Zacatecas  cathedral 


lailaliijir^  Zacatecas 


THE  MAN  WHO  LU^ES  AIEXICO  97 

written  it  in  Spanish  and  I  give  the  translation  as  nearly 
as  possible. 

"  The  Indian  town  of  Zacatecas  was  discovered,  so 
says  Padre  Frejes,  in  the  year  1531,  by  Pedro  Almendes 
Chirinos.  It  was  conquered  the  8th  of  September,  1546, 
by  Juan  de  Tolosa,  On  the  nth  of  June,  1548,  they 
discovered  the  vein  of  "  San  Bernabe  "  which  was  the 
first  silver  mine. 

"  On  the  20th  of  July,  1588,  Zacatecas  was  elevated  to 
the  category  of  Noble  y  Leal  Cindad,  by  act  of  Felipe  II. 

"  The  Convent  of  San  Agustin,  now  the  Hotel  Zaca- 
tecano  and  Presbyterian  Temple,  was  erected  in  1576 
by  the  R.  P.  Alonso  Ouezada  and  rebuilt  in  1613  by 
D.  Agustin  Zavala. 

"  Of  the  chapel  of  Mexicalpa  (one  of  the  first 
chapels),  the  date  of  construction  is  not  known,  but  it  is 
very  old. 

"  El  Santuario  de  la  Bufa  (the  little  chapel  on  the 
heights)  was  founded  in  1548,  but  it  was  afterwards 
destroyed.  The  present  chapel  was  erected  over  the 
ruins  by  the  Sr.  D.  Jose  Rivera  Bernardez,  Conde  de 
Santiago  de  la  Laguna  and  Colonel  of  Infantry.  The 
count  was  also  a  famous  writer  and  philanthropist. 

"  The  temple  was  consecrated  by  the  Ilmo,  Sr.  D. 
Nicolas  Carlos  Gomez  Cervantes,  Bishop  of  Guadalajara, 
on  the  29th  day  of  June,  1728." 

The  bones  of  the  noble  Conde  de  la  Laguna  repose 
in  the  crypt  of  the  church  of  Santo  Domingo.  This 
splendid  edifice,  which  fronts  on  the  same  square  with 
the  post  office,  was  begun  in  1746  and  completed  in  1769, 
which  seems  remarkable,  especially  as  the  cathedral  has 
never  been  completed.  The  exterior  of  Santo  Domingo 
is  very  fine.  The  interior  was  being  restored,  at  a  cost 
of  about  eight  thousand  dollars,  but  it  is  seldom  that  the 


98  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

restoring  process  is  an  improvement  to  Mexico's 
churches.  The  paintings  are  nearly  all  by  Francisco 
Martinez  Sanchez;  and  one  in  the  sacristy  is  dated  1749. 
In  the  church  there  is  also  a  Cabrera  which  is  very  well 
preserved.  Santo  Domingo  was  originally  the  seat  of 
the  Inqviisition,  and  the  painter  Sanchez  was  also  its 
notary. 

We  were  returning  from  the  sacristy  to  the  church, 
when  I  saw  two  of  the  attendants  lifting  a  heavy  door 
in  the  floor,  and  without  a  word  we  were  ushered  down 
a  long  flight  of  steps.  The  chamber  at  the  bottom  was 
scarcely  visible  in  the  dim  light  but  the  sacristan  brought 
a  candle,  and  we  found  we  were  in  a  crypt,  surrounded 
by  tombs,  some  ten  or  a  dozen  in  all.  On  the  door  of 
one  was  the  following  inscription :  "  Here  repose  the 
remains  of  the  Respectable  Padre  Fray  Gregorio  Moya, 
who  died  in  the  year  1680,  and  whose  body  was  en- 
countered without  corruption,  iii  years  after  death." 
Within  this  tomb,  which  was  of  wood,  were  two  mum- 
mies in  robes  which  seemed  to  have  ossified  as  well. 
The  quaint  shoes,  with  large  buckles,  were  still  intact. 
In  climbing  up  to  examine  them,  I  inadvertently 
clapped  my  hat  on  the  back  of  my  head,  whereupon  Sr. 
Ramirez  kindly  removed  it  without  a  word.  In  a  long, 
coffin-like  box  we  saw  the  remains  of  the  count,  which 
have  lain  there  over  two  centuries.  He  must  have  been 
over  six  feet  in  his  stockings.  The  sacristan  said  that 
until  a  few  years  ago,  the  count's  red  mantle  was  toler- 
ably well  preserved.  Lime  has  recently  been  put  in  the 
coffin  and  now  no  sign  of  the  mantle  remains. 

The  most  remarkable  mummy  was  in  a  closed  cell, 
with  a  small  aperture  at  the  top.  Peering  through  this  I 
saw  the  form  of  a  priest,  standing  erect  in  one  corner, 
with  his   hands   crossed   on   his  breast.     The   head   and 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  99 

face  were  but  slightly  disfigured  and  the  body  seemed  to 
have  retained  its  proportions.  The  robes,  which  were 
gray  with  dust,  fell  in  statuesque  folds  and  the  whole 
had  the  look  of  a  carving  in  stone.  At  his  feet  crouched 
a  small  dog,  as  though  cut  out  of  the  same  stone.  I 
wondered  if  that  dog  followed  the  body  of  his  master 
and  was  walled  in  by  mistake! 

Zacatecas  was  building  an  immense  state  hospital,  of 
brick  and  stone,  severely  plain,  with  an  inside  court  and 
a  fountain.  I  asked  whence  the  water  would  come. 
The  reply  was  "  Quien  sabe?"  This  lack  of  water  is 
a  serious  thing :  almost  as  sad  as  a  lack  of  bread. 

The  city's  elevation  is  8,000  feet.  Its  people  num- 
bered then  30,000.  In  1892  the  official  count  showed 
42,000  and  in  1887,  75,000.  Sr.  Ramirez  said  it  was 
unlikely  there  would  be  a  further  drop,  as  already  la- 
borers were  scarce.  Some  of  the  mines  were  still  in 
good  metal.  The  Zacatecas  miners  are  known  through- 
out the  republic  as  good  workmen,  and  I  have  met  them 
in  the  mountains  of  northern  Durango  trotting  along  the 
trail  leading  to  some  big  camp,  in  search  of  employment. 

In  the  afternoon,  being  left  to  my  own  resources,  I 
started  just  before  sunset  for  La  Bufa ;  and  trudged 
slowly  up  the  steep  mountain,  past  the  Indian  huts 
and  the  little  hump-backed  boy,  tending  his  goats  among 
the  rocks,  reaching  the  chapel  just  as  the  sun  disap- 
peared behind  the  mountains  opposite.  The  sky  of 
Zacatecas  was  more  deeply,  intensely  blue  than  any  I 
had  seen  elsewhere,  and  retained  its  vivid  quality  at 
night,  changing  from  azure  to  a  deep  and  then  a  deeper 
sapphire.  I  watched  the  blue  grow  darker  till  it 
swallowed  up  the  primrose  line  of  the  horizon,  and  then 
saw  in  the  west  a  crescent  moon  and  one  brilliant  star. 
Soon  all  the  stars  came  out  and  the  trail,  which  a  mo- 


loo         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

ment  before  had  looked  dark  was  light  enough  for  the 
descent.  On  my  way  down  I  met  the  lone  figure  of  a 
woman,  shrouded  in  a  black  shawl,  toiling  up  the  rocky 
path  to  the  chapel,  which  shone  white  and  bold  in  the 
starlight. 

What  gleams  so  bright  from  the  mountain  height, 
Amid  the  stars  of  the  sober  night? 
'Tis  the  light  on  the  holy  chapel  wall, 
Inviting  the  pilgrim  to  pray  in  its  hall. 

We  left  Zacatecas  the  following  morning.  Sr. 
Ramirez,  attentive  to  the  last,  came  to  see  us  off.  He 
was  one  of  the  first  of  many  kind  acqtTaintances  we 
made  in  traveling  and  his  was  the  customary  courtesy 
of  Mexico. 

My  American  friends,  whose  immediate  destination 
was  Guanajuato,  had  to  change  trains  at  Silao ;  and  while 
I  felt  inclined  to  continue  in  their  company,  the  desire 
to  see  Mexico  City,  la  Capital  as  she  is  called,  was  over- 
mastering. She  is  to  Mexico  as  New  York  to  America, 
Paris  to  France,  Madrid  to  Spain.  She  had  drawn  me 
to  her  with  irresistible  charm  ever  since  I  could  remem- 
ber. I  had  Prescott's  "  Conquest  "  and  Wallace's  "  The 
Fair  God  "  in  my  trunks,  and  meant  to  read  them  again 
within  her  very  gates.  So  now  that  only  an  afternoon 
and  night  intervened,  I  determined  to  continue  on  the 
train.  After  a  farewell  luncheon  with  my  friends  at  the 
Silao  station,  with  a  dish  of  luscious  strawberries,  they 
took  the  branch  road  for  Guanajuato  and  I  continued  on 
to  Mexico. 

I  awoke  at  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning,  just  as 
our  train  entered  the  station.  Picking  a  couple  of  stout 
cargadores  or  porters,  I  gave  them  my  trunk  checks 
and  at  the  same  time  recorded  the  numbers  displayed  on 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  loi 

their  metal  badges.  I  then  took  a  coach  and  told  the 
coachman  to  drive  me  to  Calle  San  Agustin.  I  had 
with  me  two  letters  of  introduction;  one  from  a  young 
Mexican  in  the  mines  to  a  friend  who  was  studying 
engineering  in  Mexico  City ;  and  another  from  an  Ameri- 
can in  the  mines  to  an  American  who  was  practising  his 
profession  in  Mexico  City.  The  letter  to  the  young 
Mexican  was  directed  to  his  boarding-place,  and  I  pre- 
sented it  at  once,  as  I  desired  to  secure  lodging  there. 
From  the  moment  that  this  young  man,  Don  Juan  he 
was  called  by  all  his  friends,  read  the  letter  and  offered 
me  his  hand,  placing  himself  unconditionally  at  my  serv- 
ice, he  became  a  sincere,  useful  and  devotetl  friend. 
The  apparent  reason  for  this  was  that  a  mutual  friend 
had  recommended  me.  He  was  the  son  of  a  well-to-do 
family  residing  in  one  of  the  smaller  cities,  and  was  in 
Mexico  City  completing  his  education.  He  at  once  pre- 
sented me  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  with  whom  I  ar- 
ranged to  take  a  large  comfortable  room,  opening  on 
the  flower-filled  patio,  and  my  meals,  for  the  moderate 
sum  of  $40.00  per  month  Mexican  money. 

My  Spanish,  after  a  year  in  the  mountains,  was  ex- 
ecrable. Finding  slight  inclination  or  time  to  study,  I 
had  learned  it  from  the  mountain  people.  Don  Juan, 
who  had  a  gentle  manner  and  a  most  cheery  smile,  at 
once  volunteered  to  take  my  Spanish  in  hand  and  to  con- 
verse with  me  whenever  we  both  were  at  leisure.  I 
accepted  with  the  condition  tliat  I  should  teach  him 
English ;  and  while  he  acquiesced  with  apparent  delight, 
I  discovered  that  this  was  merely  courtesy.  His  part 
of  the  contract  he  kept,  but  I  was  unable  to  fulfill  mine 
as  he  cheerfully  insisted  on  speaking  Spanish  whenever 
we  were  together.  There  were  about  forty  men  living 
at  this  house,  all  young,  and  either  at  college  or  just  be- 


I02         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

ginning  to  practise  their  profession  or  calling.  Only 
Spanish  was  spoken,  and  each  one  good-naturedly  joined 
in  my  instruction.  For  six  months  I  blundered  without 
compunction.  For  six  more  I  suffered  real  mortifica- 
tion, for  I  had  learned  enough  to  realize  how  atrociously 
I  violated  the  language.  At  the  end  of  a  year  my 
friends  said  I  spoke  quite  well.  I  read  Spanish  with 
ease  at  least  and  understood  all  that  I  heard.  I  went 
often  to  the  theater,  and  the  greater  number  of  my 
acquaintances  and  friends  were  Mexicans ;  so  that  I 
heard  it  constantly  spoken.  One  morning,  on  waking, 
I  was  conscious  of  a  dream,  in  which  my  thought  or 
meditation  had  been  in  Spanish.  I  was  overjoyed  at 
this,  and  while  I  knew  I  had  begun  too  late  to  ever 
speak  it  with  perfection,  I  knew  too  that  in  a  sense  I 
at  last  possessed  it.  It  would  be  idle  to  speculate  as  to 
the  effect  of  language  upon  life,  but  Spanish,  I  believe, 
has  enriched  life  for  me  at  least  one  hundred  per  cent. 

It  was  Don  Juan  who  first  guided  me  about  the  streets 
of  the  magical  city,  Mexico,  the  pride  of  the  Spaniards, 
built  over  the  ruins  of  Tenochtitlan,  pride  of  the  Aztecs. 
My  kind  young  friend,  in  whose  veins  coursed  the  blood 
of  both  these  noble  races,  strolled  beside  me,  murmuring 
in  his  soft,  pleasant  voice  the  facts  that  I  ought  to  know : 
—  population  about  five  hundred  thousand ;  altitude  a  lit- 
tle over  seven  thousand  feet ;  many  foreigners  in  the 
capital,  mostly  in  trade, —  Spaniards  in  provisions  and 
wines,  French  in  dry  goods,  Germans  in  drugs  and  hard- 
ware, Americans  in  mining  and  everything  else.  The 
city  was  healthful,  though  one  must  be  careful  at  night 
not  to  sleep  with  open  windows.  The  volcanoes,  Popo- 
catepetl and  Ixtaccihuatl,  were  not  visible  in  the  after- 
noon, at  this  season,  but  the  next  morning  he  would 
call   me   to    sec   them.     They   were    ten    thousand    feet 


I'aseu  lie  la  Rclniiiia,   Mcxicn  •  ii\ 


THE  MAN  WHO  LHvES  MEXICO  105 

higher  than  the  city,  with  a  total  height  of  about  seven- 
teen thousand  feet. 

I  heard  the  foregoing  as  through  a  pleasant  dream. 
At  last,  after  a  life  of  anticipation,  I  was  in  Mexico. 
Everything  charmed  me ;  the  houses,  with  their  transient 
glimpses  of  interior  gardens  and  fountains ;  the  pleasant 
monotony  of  the  sky-line,  broken  at  intervals  by  superb 
towers  and  domes;  and  the  Alameda  with  its  fine  trees 
and  military  band ;  the  people  in  carriages  and  the  people 
on  foot ;  the  composite  life  of  the  street ;  the  color,  the  ani- 
mation, the  happiness.  We  walked  through  San  Fran- 
cisco and  Plateros  to  the  great  plaza,  where  stand  the 
Cathedral  and  both  the  National  and  the  Municipal 
Palace.  Don  Juan  said  we  must  ascend  one  of  the 
Cathedral  towers  for  a  view  of  the  city;  so  we  climbed 
the  massive,  stone  stairs,  being  halted  midway  by  a 
gate,  where  the  porter  had  his  habitation  with  his  wife 
and  children,  and  taxed  each  visitor  six  cents  for  the 
view  from  the  tower.  When  at  last  we  had  reached  it 
we  found  the  volcanoes  had  emerged  from  their  clouds 
and  stood  forth  in  dazzling  white  splendor,  against  the 
blue.  I  observed  that  there  were  broad  balustrades 
providing  comfortable  seats  and  nooks  in  the  masonry 
where  one  might  sit  all  day  and  read. 

The  next  morning  I  again  sought  the  tower,  with 
Prescott's  "  Conquest "  for  my  companion ;  and  with  fre- 
quent glances  at  the  city  and  the  wide  valley,  spread  on 
every  side  to  the  foot  of  the  mountains,  I  read  again, 
on  that  day  and  many  more  days,  the  story  that  is  doubt- 
less one  of  the  most  amazing  and  fascinating  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  world.  The  scenes  of  the  main  episodes  of 
the  conquest  were  before  me.  To  the  south  stretched 
the  causeway  over  which  in  15 19  Cortes  and  his  men 
first  entered  the  Aztec  capital.     In  that  square,  where 


io6         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

the  Cathedral  and  palaces  now  stand,  he  lodged  his: 
soldiers,  and  there  he  held  Montezuma  as  hostage.  To 
the  west,  over  what  is  now  Calle  de  Tacuba,  he  led  his 
desperate  forces  in  retreat,  on  "  the  Sad  Night " ;  and 
his  favorite,  Alvarado,  called  by  the  Indians,  "  Child  of 
the  Snn,"  made  his  famous  leap  over  the  heads  of  his 
companions,  who  with  their  horses  were  floundering  to 
their  death  in  the  ooze  of  the  Canal.  On  that  site  of 
Mexico's  great  Cathedral  there  towered  the  Aztec 
Temple  dedicated  to  the  Heathen  Gods.  From  their 
encampment  without  the  city,  the  Spaniards  saw  their 
captive-comrades  ascending  the  steps  of  the  temple,  to 
die  on  the  sacrificial  stone  as  an  offering  to  the  war  god, 
Huitzilopochtli.  And  there  they  returned,  in  their  day 
of  triumph,  to  hurl  down  the  god  from  his  throne  and 
level  the  temple  walls  in  the  dust.  In  the  National 
Museum,  not  a  square  distant,  both  war  god  and  sacri- 
ficial stone  afforded  weighty  proof  of  the  truth  of  it  all. 
I  did  not  live  wholly  in  the  past,  for  there  was  the 
city  life,  vivid,  real,  exciting, —  insisting  that  I  should 
share  it.  In  the  afternoons  I  forgot  the  past  and 
enjoyed  the  life  of  Modern  Mexico.  The  most  at- 
tractive point  in  Mexico's  capital  between  the  hours 
of  4  and  7  p.  m.  especially  on  Sunday  and  Thurs- 
day, is  the  Pasco  de  la  Reforma,  where  one  hears' 
a  superb  military  band  and  sees  not  only  the  beauty  and 
fashion  of  Mexico,  but  a  sprinkling  of  all  sorts  and 
conditions  that  help  form  its  population.  While  the 
Paseo  is  comparatively  a  short  drive,  its  magnificent 
trees,  fine  roads,  and  charming  vista  terminating  in  the 
castle-crowned,  heights  of  Chapultepec,  together  with  the 
anticipation  of  the  beautiful  grove  beyond,  all  serve  to 
make  it  delightful.  At  the  approach  there  is  a  gigantic 
equestrian  statue  of  Carlos  IV  of  Spain,  which  is  called 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  107 

familiarly  by  the  people,  CabaUito  (Little  Horse).  It 
is  recorded  on  the  base  that  it  weighs  22^/2  tons, —  was 
cast  in  one  pouring  by  Manuel  Tolsa,  director  of  sculp- 
ture at  the  Academy,  in  1802,  and  that  the  chiseling  and 
burnishing  occupied  fourteen  months.  It  was  placed  on 
its  present  site  in  1852,  having  formerly  stood  in  the  Plaza 
]\Iayor.  The  entrance  to  the  drive  is  also  guarded  by 
two  enormous  bronze  figures  of  Indian  warriors. 

A  far  more  interesting  monument  stands  in  the  third 
gloricta.  It  bears  the  inscription,  "  To  the  Memory  of 
Cuauhtemoc  and  of  the  warriors  who  fought  so  heroic- 
ally in  defense  of  their  country  in  1521."  On  the  base 
are  two  fine  bas-reliefs.  One  represents  the  capture  of 
Cuauhtemoc  at  the  moment  when  he  was  brought  to  the 
presence  of  Cortes,  to  whom  he  made  his  memorable 
speech  of  surrender :  "  ]\Ialinche,  I  have  done  what  I 
could  in  defense  of  this  city  and  of  my  nation,"  and 
placing  his  hand  on  the  conqueror's  dagger,  "  Take  this 
now  and  kill  me ! "  The  other  depicts  his  subsequent 
torture,  which  failed  to  elicit  so  much  as  a  groan,  still 
less  the  desired  information  about  the  treasure.  Above 
are  blazoned  the  names  of  Indian  nobles  and  patriots, 
and  the  whole  is  surmounted  by  the  bronze  figure  of  an 
Indian  of  heroic  size  with  spear  uplifted  as  though  to 
hurl  it  at  the  foe.  The  monument  is  flanked  on  either 
side  by  the  broad  driveway  and  an  imposing  semi-cir- 
cular bench  of  stone.  From  this  vantage-point  one  may 
listen  to  the  music  and  watch  the  passing  show. 

At  the  first  notes  of  the  band  there  are  few  turnouts 
visible,  but  their  numbers  rapidly  increase  until  the  road 
is  soon  thronged  with  carriages,  automobiles,  eques- 
trians and  foot  passengers.  There  rides  a  lady  gowned 
in  pale  lavender,  the  latest  Paris  creation,  no  doubt;  her 
faultless  victoria  drawn  by  a  pair  of  high-stepping  bays 


io8         THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO 

docked  a  la  IngUsa,  and  with  two  men  in  livery  up  in 
front.  She  is  followed  by  a  pair  of  beautiful  black 
horses  with  flowing  manes  and  tails,  their  fine  heads 
and  sensitive  nostrils  suggesting  an  Arab  strain.  They 
draw  a  brougham  faultless  as  the  victoria,  but  the  owner 
has  chosen  to  retain  one  feature  essentially  of  the  coun- 
try. The  coachman,  a  dark  swarthy  fellow,  wears  a 
tight-fitting  suit  of  black  and  a  huge  sombrero,  thus 
adding  a  picturesque  quality.  There  rides  a  young 
cahallcro  in  all  the  bravery  of  INIexican  attire,  both  his 
suit  and  hat  elaborately  trimmed  with  silver.  His  horse, 
a  mettlesome  gray,  seems  to  step  the  prouder  for  the 
silver-mounted  trappings.  At  his  side  a  youth  of  as 
many  years  has  adopted  the  English  mode  and  rides  a 
stylish  trotter,  rising  in  the  stirrups  in  approved  form. 
Now  a  ranchero  reins  his  pacing  mule  to  listen  to  the 
music.  Behind  him  is  a  tiny  mite  of  a  boy,  his  chubby 
legs  tied  in  the  thongs  of  the  Mexican  saddle  —  his 
hands  clutching  his  father's  jacket,  while  he  looks  amaze- 
ment from  a  pair  of  big  black  eyes.  The  crowd  in- 
creases. There  a  peon  in  brilliant  zarape  is  buying  diilccs 
for  his  wife  and  child  who  sit  on  the  curbstone  and 
blissfully  devour  the  sweets.  Here  a  woman  walks, 
graceful,  barefooted,  carrying  an  immense  earthen  jar 
on  her  head,  and  passing  amid  all  this  gay  throng,  come 
some  freighters  with  their  band  of  sleek-coated  mules. 

During  this  scene  of  tropical  color,  beauty  and  luxury, 
at  a  stone's  throw  have  been  passing  innumerable  little 
street  cars,  some  of  them  draped  in  black,  others  in 
white,  surmounted  by  crosses,  and  bearing  suggestive 
coffin-shaped  boxes.  These  have  gradually  ceased,  how- 
ever. New  equipages  laden  with  beautiful  women  dash 
past.  One  catches  a  fleeting  glimpse  of  dark  eyes  and  of 
jeweled  fingers  twirled  rapidly  at  some  passing  friend. 


^,:^,-  ,>■•->» 


SB*|  m^ 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  iii 

A  young  Southerner  romantically  inclined  says  they  make 
him  think  of  twinkling  stars  which  are  now  beginning  to 
show  over  the  tree  tops.  The  sun  has  dropped  behind 
the  mountain,  there  is  a  young  moon  overhead, —  the 
strains  of  La  Golondrina  float  across  the  Paseo, —  the 
scene  is  one  not  to  be  forgotten.  It  is  la  noclic  and  even- 
ing life  has  begun  in  the  gayest  city  of  the  Republic. 

The  Howards  arrived  in  ]\Iexico  a  few  days  later  than 
I,  with  enthusiastic  accounts  of  the  picturesque  charm  of 
Guanajuato.  I  soon  learned  that  Mr,  Howard's  para- 
mount desire  was  to  meet  the  President  of  Mexico,  and  as 
he  carried  credentials  from  the  highest  sources,  both  offi- 
cial and  social,  his  pretensions  seemed  not  unreasonable. 
For  the  rest,  he  pursued  his  goal  with  the  unwavering  as- 
surance peculiar  to  men  of  his  race.  He  had  brought  let- 
ters to  Senator  de  Herrera  of  Chihuahua,  and  it  was  no 
surprise  when  he  informed  me  that  the  Senator  would 
present  us  to  President  Diaz  at  the  National  Palace  the 
following  day. 

On  our  entering  the  presidential  apartment,  the  ante- 
room was  deserted  as  was  also  the  receiving  room  into 
which  the  Senator  conducted  us.  The  next  moment, 
President  Diaz  entered.  His  presence  was  extremely 
commanding, —  not  haughty  but  dominant.  His  counte- 
nance was  handsome  and  rather  impassive,  his  com- 
plexion fresh  and  sanguine,  his  eye  large,  dark  and  at 
that  moment  mild.  His  hand-shake  was  firm  and  cordial 
and  his  hand  warm  and  dry,  denoting  perfect  circulation. 
Mr.  Howard  at  once  delivered  to  the  President  a  mes- 
sage from  his  father,  an  elderly  gentleman,  who  had  al- 
ways followed  the  career  of  the  President  with  admira- 
tion, and  who  now  begged  that  he  would  send  him,  by 
the  hand  of  his  son,  a  signed  photograph.  Thereupon  the 
President  signed  and  gave  us  two  photographs.     But  Mr. 


112         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

Howard,  who  possessed  a  naive  and  charming  manner, 
asked  to  be  permitted  to  photograph  the  President  with 
his  own  camera.  The  President  seemed  agreeably  im- 
pressed by  the  sincerity  of  his  request,  and  we  were  ac- 
cordingly bidden  to  visit  him  the  following  Sunday 
morning  at  Chapultepec  Castle. 

On  Sunday  morning  at  ten  o'clock  we  went  to  Cha- 
pultepec. The  President  received  us  with  distinct  kind- 
ness, dismissed  his  attendant,  and  led  us  upon  the  terrace. 
The  month  was  May.  The  light  was  golden,  the  sky 
blue,  with  no  premonition  of  the  afternoon  shower.  On 
the  west  and  south  rose  giant  cypress  trees,  the  pleasure- 
groves  of  Aztec  emperors  before  the  coming  of  the  Span- 
iards. On  the  east,  was  the  broad  Paseo  de  la  Reforma, 
fringed  with  tall  eucalyptus  trees,  leading  straight  to  the 
city,  whose  towers  we  could  plainly  see.  We  could  even 
hear  the  Cathedral  bells.  From  this  same  terrace  the 
Empress  Carlota  watched,  on  summer  evenings,  for  the 
coming  of  Maximilian,  who  had  endeavored  to  reproduce 
here  all  the  beauty  of  Miramar.  The  frescoes  and  fur- 
nishings were  still  eloquent  of  the  luxurious  tastes  of  the 
Austrian  Arch-Duke  and  his  beautiful  consort,  whose 
hand  was  especially  revealed  in  the  charming  interior  gar- 
dens. 

The  Senator,  glowing  with  pride,  had  just  entreated  us 
to  admire  once  more  the  beauties  of  Popocatepetl  and 
Ixtaccihuatl,  limned  in  snowy  profile  against  the  blue,  and 
under  the  spell  of  their  enchantment  we  followed  the 
President  to  the  north  terrace  where  historical  fact 
awaited  us.  While  history  by  no  means  ])recludes  en- 
chantment, it  is  not  its  distinguishing  feature;  but  we  had 
been  reading  Prescott,  and  the  romance  of  the  Conquest 
possessed  us.  We  were  surrounded  by  reminders  of  the 
brief  reign  of  Maximilian,  and  these  though  sad  are  in 


Castle  of  Chapultepec 


Corridor  of  Chapultepec 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  115 

the  main  beautiful.  Is  it  easy  to  be  unmindful  of  our 
own  trespasses?  I  confess  I  scarcely  remembered  the 
war  of  '47.  Then  came  the  grim  fact, —  on  that  field  the 
Mexican  and  American  armies  met :  at  that  precise  angle 
of  the  clififs,  our  soldiers  scrambled,  tooth  and  nail,  to 
assault  and  capture  the  castle.  I  learned  now,  for  the 
first  time,  that  it  was  defended  by  boys  who  were  cadets 
in  the  military  school, —  some  only  fourteen  years  old. 

The  President,  when  he  had  indicated  the  exact  point 
of  attack,  started  to  move  on.  Our  kind  friend,  the 
Senator,  began  speaking  rapidly,  half  in  extenuation, —  I 
remember  he  placed  much  stress  on  the  fact  that  it  all 
happened  a  good  many  years  ago.  He  could  not  but 
speak  thrillingly  of  those  boy-heroes, —  his  son  was  even 
then  a  cadet  in  Chapultepec  Academy, —  but  he  also  paid 
a  tribute  to  the  bravery  of  the  Americans.  The  Mexi- 
can boys  were  young  lions,  the  Senator  said, —  they  died 
like  men.  The  young  color-bearer,  fatally  wounded, 
clutched  the  flag  in  his  arms  and  hurled  himself  over  the 
embankment,  rather  than  surrender.  And  an  American 
officer,  when  he  saw  the  wounded  and  dying  boys,  shed 
tears  and  said  they  were  too  young, —  that  they  should 
not  have  been  there  to  die  so  young.  Then  the  Senator 
spoke  of  the  monument  to  their  memory,  where  each 
year,  after  the  President  has  placed  a  w^reath  with  his 
own  hand,  the  American  Ambassador  goes  also  to  offer 
a  floral  tribute  in  honor  of  the  boy  martyrs.  The  Presi- 
dent listened  gravely  and  at  mention  of  the  wreaths 
bowed  slightly  in  acquiescence. 

It  was  here  that  American  diplomacy,  of  a  high  order, 
informed  by  intelligent  sympathy,  projected  itself  on  the 
disturbed  psychology  of  the  moment.  Mr.  Howard,  a 
typical  Saxon,  blue-eyed,  smiling,  sunny  of  look  and  na- 
ture,—  his  sweet  American  girl-wife  clinging  to  his  arm. 


ii6         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

—  had  listened  with  rapt  attention  and  serious  mien.  I 
attribute  to  him  a  high  order  of  diplomacy,  because  his 
words  and  manner  seemed  exactly  right.  Mrs.  Howard 
confided  to  me  afterwards  that  she  was  sure  he  would 
say  something. 

"  I  am  glad,  Mr.  President,"  he  began,  and  his  tone 
was  courteous  as  it  was  untroubled,  "  that  in  later  years, 
during  the  French  intervention,  my  country  was  enabled 
to  perform  a  service  for  Mexico." 

It  was  then  President  Diaz  pronounced  these  words 
which  I  shall  always  remember : 

"  Nations  are  like  boys.  When  they  are  young,  they 
quarrel.     When  they  are  older,  they  help  each  other." 

The  situation  was  saved.  Did  the  President  sense  our 
anxiety  or  our  relief?  The  hero  of  many  wars  might 
well  be  insensible  to  the  trepidations  of  mere  mortals. 
Yet  if  he  was  quite  unconscious  of  ours,  why  did  he  at 
that  moment  turn  and  graciously  offer  his  arm  to  Mrs. 
Howard?  Her  spirits  now  regained  their  natural  buoy- 
ancy and  sweetness.  Did  the  President  speak  English? 
He  regretted  that  he  did  not.  Naturally  she  demanded 
an  interpreter,  and  I  was  chosen  for  this  useful  if  dif- 
ficult office.  My  Spanish  was  almost  nil  and  my  embar- 
rassment was  heightened,  inasmuch  as  I  had  heard  that 
while  the  President  did  not  converse  in  English,  he  under- 
stood it  quite  well.  But  by  this  time,  his  direct  and 
simple  kindness,  which  only  enhanced  his  nobility  of  man- 
ner, had  cast  upon  us  such  a  magical  charm,  that  all  that 
followed  took  on  a  natural,  almost  a  homely  quality.  I 
even  felt  that  blunders  in  Spanish  would  be  regarded  with 
indulgence. 

Meantime  Mr.  Howard  had  adjusted  his  camera  and 
begun  the  business  of  snap-shotting  the  President.  Trot- 
ting about   him   in  most   nonchalant   fashion   he   photo- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  117 

graphed  him  at  various  angles,  and  then,  with  his  most 
polite  if  somewhat  brief  American  bow,  he  would  wave 
his  hand  toward  an  adjacent  chair  and  say,  "  Please  be 
seated.  Sir !  "  And  the  President  of  Mexico,  the  "  Man 
of  Iron,"  with  composed  and  serious  look,  but  with,  I  was 
certain,  an  amused  twinkle  in  his  eye  would  seat  himself 
to  be  photographed.  The  remarkable  thing  was  that,  as 
I  have  said,  all  seemed  perfectly  natural. 

It  was  during  luncheon,  where  we  were  unostenta- 
tiously served  by  an  Indian  butler,  that  President  Diaz 
spoke  of  Mexico,  and  especially  of  the  friendship  existing 
between  Mexico  and  the  United  States.  He  said  it  was 
our  revolution  and  achievement  that  had  heartened  Mex- 
ico to  cast  off  the  yoke  of  Spain ;  that  Mexico's  govern- 
ment was  modeled,  so  far  as  possible,  after  ours. 

Mr.  Howard  then  likened  Hidalgo  to  Washington; 
Juarez  to  Lincoln ;  Diaz  to  Grant.  The  President  then 
proposed  the  health  of  the  President  of  the  United  States. 
A  curious  mistake  occurred  while  we  were  at  table,  show- 
ing the  difficulty  of  social  intercourse  between  people  of 
different  tongues.  Mr.  Howard,  who  was  a  brilliant 
talker,  and  who  manifested  implicit  though  somewhat 
misplaced  confidence  in  the  versatility  of  his  interpreters, 
desired  to  give  an  essentially  American  toast  in  honor  of 
the  President.  He  began  with  a  reference  to  our  favorite 
actor,  Jefferson,  and  turning  to  the  President  said,  "  Sir, 
may  you  live  long  and  prosper !  "  Senator  Herrera,  who 
was  in  excellent  spirits  and  eager  to  aid  Mr.  Howard, 
said  rapidly,  "  He  desires  to  honor  the  memory  of  their 
great  president  Jefferson."  I  was  too  rattled  to  interpose 
in  time,  and  the  toast  was  politely  drunk. 

It  was  when  he  spoke  of  Mexico  and  her  future,  that 
Diaz  glowed  as  with  an  inner  flame.  Sometimes  his  eye 
flashed, —  again  it  softened  and  became  suffused.     We 


Ii8         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

were  awed  and  deeply  affected.  We  felt  that  we  were 
in  the  presence  of  a  great  and  holy  passion, —  the  passion 
of  a  patriot  for  his  country.  Somehow  I  forgot  his 
greatness, —  his  eyes  filled  with  tears  as  he  talked  of  his 
hopes  for  Mexico.  But  I  saw  the  great  compelling  mo- 
tive of  his  life,  his  love  of  country. 

The  President  walked  with  us  to  the  elevator  in  the 
enclosed  garden  which  descends  through  a  shaft  cut  in 
the  solid  rock.  In  taking  leave  of  him,  Mrs.  Howard 
desired  me  to  express  our  gratitude  for  his  exceeding 
kindness,  and  this  I  endeavored  to  do.  "  You  merit  it," 
was  his  reply.  We  were  silent  throughout  our  return 
drive  to  the  city,  through  the  Paseo  de  la  Reforma.  The 
magnitude  of  our  enterprise  had  begun  to  dawn  upon 
us.  We  had  been  for  a  whole  forenoon  with  one  of  the 
great  rulers  of  the  world ;  yet  so  indulgent  was  his  kind- 
ness, for  the  time  we  had  only  realized  that  we  were 
happy. 

The  good  and  gentle  Senator  soon  afterwards  returned 
to  his  estates  in  the  northern  part  of  the  republic  and  my 
American  friends  continued  their  journeyings  to  other 
countries.  A  year  later  Mr.  Howard  wrote  me,  "  I  have 
always  intended  to  write  an  account  of  our  morning  with 
President  Diaz  at  Chapultepcc ;  but  he,  is  such  a  big  fel- 
low, I  am  afraid  to  tackle  him."  I  confess  to  the  same 
feeling,  a  feeling  of  awe,  of  veneration.  Yet  it  was  a 
real  experience, —  the  biggest  one  of  my  life.  And  now, 
of  that  party  of  friends  who  went  to  pay  their  homage 
to  Mexico's  president  on  Chapultepec  heights,  I  alone 
remain. 

Throughout  the  ensuing  years  I  saw  the  President  con- 
stantly. I  saw  him  reviewing  the  army  on  field  days, 
presiding  at  official  ceremonies,  laying  corner-stones, 
dedicating  edifices.     He  was  always  unchanged, —  always 


Garden  of  Chapultepec 


(late  to  Chapultepec  military  college 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  121 

alert,  impassive,  clear-eyed,  commanding,  dignified :  al- 
ways on  time,  no  matter  what  the  hour  or  the  weather, 
thus  quietly  enforcing  the  rule  of  promptness  in  this 
pleasant  land  of  manana.  It  seemed  that  in  this  habit 
of  punctuality,  as  in  all  his  daily  life,  he  was  modestly 
and  unobtrusively  setting  a  good  example  to  the  men  in 
Mexico,  whether  native  or  foreign.  And  while  the  light 
beats  fiercely  on  the  President's  chair  as  on  the  throne, 
no  stain  on  the  private  life  of  Diaz  has  been  revealed, 
even  to  his  enemies. 

As  for  the  achievement  of  President  Diaz,  all  the  world 
knows  that  he  went  into  office  as  provisional  president  in 
1876,  it  being  formally  decreed  by  Congress  in  April  of 
the  following  year  that  he  serve  as  Constitutional  Presi- 
dent for  a  term  expiring  in  November,  1880.  He  de- 
clined reelection,  in  accordance  with  the  provisions  of 
the  Constitution.  At  the  expiration  of  the  term  of 
Gonzalez  in  1884,  Diaz  was  again  elected.  One  of  his' 
first  acts  was  to  reduce  the  President's  salary  from 
$30,000  to  $15,000.  He  established  schools  and  com- 
pulsory education.  He  made  Mexico  safe  for  foreigners, 
and  invited  them  to  come  in  and  develop  her  marvelous 
resources,  mineral,  agricultural,  industrial, —  to  the  ad- 
vantage of  Alexico  and  to  their  own  enrichment.  He 
once  told  me,  in  course  of  conversation,  that  he  wel- 
comed the  coming  to  Mexico  of  young,  intelligent,  con- 
structive Americans.  He  made  possible  the  complete 
railway  systems,  which  have  brought  about  a  remarkable 
development  in  national  and  international  communication, 
both  industrial  and  intellectual.  Above  all,  he  fostered 
and  maintained  peace  for  thirty  years. 

In  order  to  justly  appreciate  the  achievement  of  Diaz, 
we  should  note  the  following  chronological  events,  as  af- 
fecting the  social  and  political  evolution  of  Mexico. 


122         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

1325  The  Aztecs  (ancient  Mexicans)  took  possession  of  the  Val- 
ley of  Mexico.  Their  origin  is  mystery.  At  the  time  of 
the  Spanish  conquest,  the  Aztecs  had  either  subjugated  or 
were  at  war  with  the  other  Indian  nations. 

1502  Montezuma  became  Emperor  of  the  Aztecs, 

1519  Cortes  landed  on  the  I\Iexican  coast. 

1520  Montezuma  died. 

1521  Cortes  captured  the  Aztec  capital,  now  Mexico  City. 

1522  The  first  Catholic  church  was  founded  in  Mexico. 

1527  All  the  picture-writings  and  other  manuscripts  of  the  Aztecs 
were  taken  from  the  national  archives  and  burned. 

1531  The  miracle  of  the  Virgin  of  Guadalupe,  the  Patroness  of 
Mexico. 

1547  Cortes  died. 

1571  The  Inquisition  was  established  in  Mexico. 

1810  The  priest,  Hidalgo,  proclaimed  Mexican  Independence. 

181 1  Hidalgo  was  captured  and  shot. 

1813  First  Mexican  congress. 

1814  First  Mexican  constitution. 

1820  Inquisition  was  suppressed. 

1821  Mexican  Independence  was  consummated. 

1822  Iturbide  was  named  Emperor.     Santa  Ana  declared   for  a 

republic. 

1823  Iturbide  abdicated.     Monroe  Doctrine  proclaimed.     Iturbide 

shot. 
183s  Rebellion  of  Texas. 

1845  Annexation  of  Texas. 

1846  United  States  war  with  Mexico. 
1848  Treaty  of  Guadalupe  Hidalgo. 

1859  Reform  laws  promulgated  by  Juarez. 
1862  French  army  invaded  Mexico. 

1864  Maximilian  was  crowned  Emperor. 

1865  Mr.  Seward's  note  to  France,  demanding  the  withdrawal  of 

her  army. 
1867  French    army    withdrawn.     Diaz    captured    Puebla.     Maxi- 
milian was  shot.     Diaz  captured  City  of  Mexico. 

1876  Diaz  proclaimed  Provisional  President. 

1877  Diaz  elected  Constitutional  President. 
1880  Gonzalez  elected  President. 

1884  Diaz  elected  President. 


San  Ipolito,  Mexico  City,  the  first  chuicli  built 
after  the  conquest 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  125 

During  Mexico's  centenary  celebration  in  1910,  on  the 
birthday  of  President  Diaz,  which  falls  on  September 
15th,  the  day  preceding  that  of  Mexico's  independence, 
I  passed  before  him  in  line  with  the  visiting  newspaper 
men,  who  were  the  guests  of  the  Mexican  federal  gov- 
ernment. We  had  been  advised  not  to  address  him  in 
English.  When  I  shook  his  hand,  I  said  in  Spanish, 
"  May  you  have  a  very  long  life,  Sir,  and  may  the 
country  continue  happy !  "  He  gripped  my  hand  firmly, 
smiled  and  bowed,  and  I  passed  on  to  make  way  for  the 
next  man  in  line. 

President  Diaz  should  have  a  long  life.  He  comes 
of  a  hardy  race  and  his  habits  are  conducive  to  longevity. 
His  magnanimity  has  long  since  elevated  him  above  any 
personal  ambition  or  self-interest.  His  identity  is 
merged  completely  with  the  national  life.  And  in  the 
future  peace  and  prosperity  of  Mexico  he  will  continue 
to  find  happiness.  He  may  see  firmly  established  the 
era  he  so  confidently  proclaimed  when  nations,  grown 
older,  help  one  another. 


CHAPTER  V 

Peaceful  Morelia:  Lake  Patzcuaro :  Tzintzuntzan :  U'ruapan 
and  its  Boom :  A  Fortunate  Washout :  Progress  Comes  to 
Him  Who  Waits  :  Products  of  Uruapan  :  Ideal  Climate  in  the 
Tropics :  Something  About  Saddle-Horses :  Michoacan  and 
the  Tarascos:  Burial  of  a  Tarasco  King:  Solemnity  of  the 
Indians:     Their  Arts  and  Crafts. 

AT  the  house  where  I  was  staying  were  young 
men  from  every  part  of  Mexico.  Pleased  at 
my  enjoyment  of  their  country,  they  wished  me 
to  see  the  whole  of  it,  and  from  them  I  had  much 
advice  about  traveling.  A  city  they  especially  recom- 
mended was  Morelia,  the  capital  of  Michoacan,  assur- 
ing me  that  the  Cathedral  was  the  finest  in  the  republic. 
On  the  same  line  were  Lake  Patzcuaro,  with  Tzin- 
tzuntzan and  the  supposed  Titian  painting,  and  the  charm- 
ing old  city  of  Uruapan,  to  which  the  railroad  had  just 
penetrated. 

On  a  morning  in  June  I  took  the  7:10  train  out  of 
Mexico  for  Morelia.  The  rains  had  begun  their  freshen- 
ing work  and  it  was  good  to  see  the  gaunt  horses  and 
cattle  cropping  the  tender  grass,  while  an  occasional 
frisky  colt  or  calf  kicked  his  heels  in  the  air.  The  con- 
ductor said  that  was  just  the  way  he  felt  when  he  got 
down  to  a  lower  altitude,  and  expressed  the  friendly 
conviction  that  when  I  got  to  Uruapan  I  should  feel  that 
way  too.  As  the  road  approached  the  summit,  which 
is  about  3,000  feet  higher  than  Mexico,  I  began  to  be 

126 


THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO         127 

very  hungry.  Fortunately  there  were  Indian  women 
at  every  station  with  food  —  such  as  it  was ! 

At  Flor  de  INIaria  which  we  reached  at  12:10  p.m. 
there  was  a  good  substantial  dinner ;  and  from  that  point 
the  train  glided  down  through  a  gently  rolling  country, 
where  the  green  plains  stretch  away  on  every  side,  with 
an  occasional  hacienda  or  white  church  tower,  till  they 
are  lost  in  the  blue  of  the  mountains. 

We  arrived  at  INIorelia  about  eight  o'clock  in  the 
evening.  It  is  a  restful  city,  built  on  a  hill  which  slopes 
gradually  on  every  hand,  affording  perfect  drainage, 
and  is  swept  by  cool  breezes  from  the  mountains.  There 
is  little  noise  at  night  save  the  monotonous  cry  of  the 
street  vendor.  The  city  is  brilliantly  lighted  by  elec- 
tricity, which  makes  the  streets,  almost  deserted  after 
nine  o'clock,  seem  still  more  solitary.  Even  the  Cathe- 
dral towers  have  each  a  three-light  cluster  of  incandes- 
cents.  The  Morelia  Cathedral  deserves  its  fame  for 
beauty.  The  church  is  flanked  on  either  side  by  a 
plaza  filled  with  tropical  verdure  and  blossoms.  I  have 
never  seen  a  city  with  so  many  plazas.  In  all,  the  trees 
and  plants  have  that  casual  arrangement  which  is  the 
perfection  of  landscape  gardening,  and  seems  peculiar 
to  Mexico. 

Morelia  is  a  city  of  fine  buildings,  massive  enough  to 
last  through  the  ages.  One  constantly  wonders  where 
the  people  are.  There  are  few  carriages  of  any  de- 
scription, but  I  saw  many  fine  saddle  horses.  One  gets 
the  impression  of  wealth  on  every  hand,  in  the  buildings 
in  general,  but  above  all  in  the  churches.  A  unique 
group  are  the  church  of  Las  Monjas,  with  the  sumptuous 
Colegio  de  Guadalupe  for  girls  on  one  side,  and  the 
very  plain  but  orderly  barracks  elbowing  it  on  the  other. 
The  bells  keep  up  a  constant  warning  for  the  faithful. 


128         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

From  the  college  come  sweet-faced  children  to  buy 
dulces  at  the  street  corner.  Soldiers  lounge  in  front  of 
the  barracks,  and  within  are  heard  the  bugle  call  and 
drum-taps.  The  most  noticeable  movement  in  the  city- 
is  at  night  and  morning  when  the  women  carry  water 
from  the  various  fountains,  an  ever-graceful  and  in- 
teresting sight.  The  people  are  invariably  soft-spoken 
and  courteous. 

I  saw  a  lot  of  prisoners  at  work  on  the  street,  and 
as  none  had  really  bad  faces  I  asked  what  they  had 
done.  My  informant  crooked  his  elbow  and  placed  his 
thumb  suggestively  to  his  lips.  Too  much  tequila 
(brandy)  !  This  gentleman  was  reclining  on  the  edge  of 
a  fountain.  The  soldier  in  charge  was  leaning  against  a 
telegraph  pole.  The  prisoners,  with  one  or  two  excep- 
tions, were  resting  on  their  shovels.  I  sank  into  a  con- 
venient stone  seat,  and  we  all  rested. 

The  city  of  Morelia  is  named  for  the  great  Morelos, 
the  formation  of  his  name  suggesting  that  of  Bolivia 
from  Bolivar.  The  population  is  estimated  at  thirty- 
seven  thousand.  I  shall  never  cease  to  question  the  ac- 
curacy of  these  figures. 

I  took  my  departure  at  7  a.  m.  A  number  of  the  in- 
habitants were  in  sight  but  the  only  active  members  were 
the  porter  with  my  trunk,  and  his  reproduction,  on  a 
small  scale,  with  my  basket  balanced  on  his  head. 

The  road  between  Morelia  and  Patzcuaro  presents  a 
vista  of  more  rolling  prairies,  towering  mountain-ranges 
and  the  beautiful  Patzcuaro  lake.  The  ride  takes  two 
hours.  At  Patzcuaro  an  Indian  transferred  my  trunk 
and  ran  in  front  of  the  mules  all  the  way  to  the 
hotel  to  unload  it.  He  then  constituted  himself  my 
guide  for  all  expeditions,  and  offered  to  see  me  through 
on  horseback  or  to  tote  me  as  he  did  my  trunk  if  I 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  131 

preferred.  I  knew  I  should  like  Patzcuaro  because  the 
Morelia  people  said  it  was  ugly.  It  is  an  ancient  pueblo, 
built  on  a  hill,  which  slopes  away  to  the  blue  waters  of 
the  lake.  At  the  back  of  the  town  are  thick  woods,  and 
the  square  in  front  of  the  hotel  is  shaded  by  one  giant 
tree  where  a  fountain  splashes  clear  water  into  the 
women's  ollas.  Even  men  carry  water  in  two  jars 
balanced  on  the  ends  of  long  poles  and  none  of  them 
leaves  the  fountain  without  a  rest  and  a  dish  of  gossip. 
The  air  here  is  delicious.  At  first  sight  Patzcuaro  im- 
presses one  as  ugly,  but  take  a  ten  minutes'  walk  to  the 
adjacent  hill  and  you  will  change  your  opinion.  Below 
you  lies  the  large  and  beautiful  lake,  with  its  island  vil- 
lages and  the  fishing-boats  of  the  Indians.  Beyond  the 
lake  are  the  mountains ;  back  of  you  the  pine  woods. 
You  look  your  fill  and  turn  to  go,  and  pause  to  look 
again. 

Patzcuaro  is  chiefly  interesting  for  having  been  the 
ancient  capital  of  the  Chicliiniccas,  who  are  thought  to 
have  come  from  the  North  about  the  year  1200,  and 
subdued  the  tribes  that  already  occupied  the  shores  and 
islands  of  Lake  Patzcuaro,  Indian  chroniclers  attribute 
the  origin  of  the  first  people  of  Michoacan  to  a  unique 
incident.  They  claim  that  during  the  emigration  of  the 
northern  tribes,  on  reaching  the  lake  of  Patzcuaro,  many 
of  the  people  stopped  to  bathe.  The  others,  by  advice 
of  their  gods,  who  doubtless  disapproved  of  the  bathing 
habit,  surreptitiously  gathered  up  their  friends'  clothing 
and  departed. 

The  ancient  victims  of  this  too-practical  joke  were  so 
infuriated,  that  they  resolved  to  cut  the  acquaintance  of 
the  rest  of  their  tribe  for  good  and  all.  They  camped 
on  the  spot,  and  so  great  was  their  hatred  for  the  jokers, 
they  even  changed  their  language.  Whatever  the  be- 
7 


132         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

ginnings  of  this  race,  it  was  a  large  and  powerful  one, 
second  only  to  that  of  Mexico  proper,  at  the  coming  of 
the  Spaniards. 

It  is  noteworthy  that  the  Indian  king  Miguangagc, 
who  had  his  seat  at  Patzcuaro,  left  no  heirs  for  the 
reason  that  his  first  son  was  killed  by  lightning,  and  his 
others  put  to  death  by  his  own  orders,  in  punishment  for 
their  crimes. 

The  last  king  of  Michoacan  bore  the  nickname  CalLzon- 
tzi  [Old  Shoe],  bestowed  by  the  Aztecs  in  token  of  their 
scorn  for  his  cowardly  surrender  to  the  Spaniards. 
This  base  monarch  caused  the  murder  of  his  brothers, 
fearing  in  them  rivals  for  the  throne.  His  people  and 
the  Aztecs  were  old  enemies,  and  when  the  brave 
Cuauhtemoc  sent  his  ambassadors  proposing  they  should 
join  forces  against  their  common  foe,  he  refused  to  con- 
sider their  ofifers,  and  had  them  put  to  death.  It  is 
supposed  he  imagined  the  Spaniards  would  content 
themselves  with  taking  Mexico,  and  leave  him  undis- 
turbed ;  but  when  Cortes  sent  his  troops,  under  Mon- 
tafio,  he  received  them  without  resistance  and  went  in 
person  to  the  capital  to  ofifer  submission  to  the  con- 
queror. He  continued  king  in  name  for  a  number  of 
years,  but  finally  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  cruel  Nufio  de 
Guzman,  who,  after  robbing  him  of  all  his  treasure, 
had  him  burned  alive. 

The  Michihiiacanos  believed  in  the  immortality  of  the 
soul  and  in  the  existence  of  God.  They  also  worshiped 
idols  and  practised  human  sacrifice.  Michoacan  means 
"  country  of  fishes."  The  name  was  bestowed  by  the 
Aztecs.  When  the  conquerors  came,  the  Indian  nobles 
gave  them  their  daughters,  calling  them  tarascue  which 
means  "  sons-in-law."  The  Spaniards,  hearing  this 
word  constantly,  corrupted  it  into  Tarascos,  and  applied 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         133 

it  to  the  Indians  themselves,  who  are  still  known  by 
this  name, 

Friday  is  market-day  at  Patzcuaro.  Then  the  Indians 
come  from  far  and  near  with  their  wares,  and  the  plaza 
is  crowded  from  sunrise.  Among  the  things  displayed 
are  fruits  in  great  variety,  delicious  fish  (a  tiny  one,  the 
size  of  a  sardine,  and  a  larger  white  one  not  unlike  perch 
in  flavor),  and  ducks.  There  is  an  abundance  of  a 
red  earthenware,  without  ornament  but  apparently  very 
strong;  also  the  curious  capote,  or  Indian  rain-coat, 
woven  from  palm  leaves.  At  this  season  every  peon 
carries  or  wears  one,  and  as  he  is  often  a  wild-looking 
creature  to  start  with,  this  shaggy,  bristly  covering  com- 
pletes the  picture  of  a  sure-enough  Indian.  The  price 
is  fifty  cents  for  a  fine  large  one,  and  it  is  a  tempta- 
tion to  carry  one  away,  unwieldy  as  it  is.  The  weaving, 
which  shows  on  the  inside,  is  very  close  and  firm,  and 
the  cape  is  said  to  shed  water  like  a  duck's  back.  The 
Indian  may  sell  what  he  brought  to  market  but  he  carries 
another  load  home.  Indeed,  as  one  seldom  sees  one 
of  the  genus  pure  and  simple  who  is  not  toting  a  pack, 
it  is  not  hard  to  believe  the  statement  that  when  he  has 
nothing  to  carry  he  loads  up  with  ballast. 

I  left  Patzcuaro  early  on  market-day  to  see  Tzin- 
tzuntzan  and  the  picture.  With  a  good  horse  the  ride 
may  be  easily  made  in  two  hours.  The  road  was 
thronged  with  Indians  on  their  way  to  market.  There 
were  trains  of  burros  laden  with  the  red  pottery,  and 
the  driver  always  carried  as  much  as  one  of  the  burros. 
There  were  women,  with  great  baskets  of  fruit,  and 
the  inevitable  youngsters  slung  on  behind.  If  you  look 
close  enough  at  an  Indian  woman's  pack  you  are  pretty 
sure  to  see  a  small  pair  of  bare  feet  projecting  from  the 
midst  of  baskets  and  sacks.     No  wonder  these  young- 


134         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

sters  grow  up  to  have  the  endurance  of  pack-animals 
themselves,  jolted  as  they  are  from  the  day  of  their 
arrival,  over  rough  roads,  rain  or  shine,  always  in  the 
fresh  air,  suckled  in  the  open,  with  the  ground  for  a 
cradle.  It  means  more  than  ordinarily,  for  an  Indian 
to  say,  "  the  mother  that  bore  me."  That  mother  never 
locked  him  in  to  be  burned  alive  by  the  explosion  of  a 
kerosene  lamp.  When  she  got  ready  to  sally  forth,  she 
simply  caught  him  up  in  her  rebozo  and  tossed  him  on 
her  back.  Then  she  trotted  off  about  her  business,  a 
mile  or  twenty,  as  it  happened ;  and  he  might  sleep,  wake, 
coo  or  howl  as  he  preferred,  it  was  all  the  same  to  her. 
I  saw  one  man,  mounted  on  a  small  burro,  and  carry- 
ing a  very  young  infant  on  his  arm.  One  often  sees  a 
brawny  peon  carrying  a  baby  as  tenderly  as  though  he 
loved  it. 

The  strangest  object  w^as  a  very  small  article  that  a 
young  Indian  had  wrapped  in  his  zarape.  He  was  carry- 
ing it  as  though  it  were  an  infant,  but  as  he  passed  I 
saw  a  shock  of  coarse,  reddish  hair  and  my  curiosity 
prompted  me  to  call  him  back  and  ask  what  he  had. 
"  Un  marranito,  sefior,"  he  replied,  opening  the  zarape, 
and  there  sure  enough,  lay  a  baby  pig  sleeping  as  peace- 
fully as  a  child.  His  nurse  eyed  him  fondly,  and  I  was 
so  surprised  my  genius  for  asking  questions  deserted  me. 
I  shall  never  cease  to  wonder  if  that  pig  was  intended 
for  sacrifice,  or  if  he  had  been  regularly  adopted. 

Tzintzuntzan  is  embowered  in  trees.  The  first  glimpse 
of  the  town  is  attractive,  with  the  church  tower  just 
showing  over  the  tops  of  the  olives.  The  houses  and 
streets  are  clean  and  the  people  decent  and  friendly  in 
their  manner.  It  was  a  fiesta  and  the  entire  populace 
seemed  to  be  carrying  decorations  to  the  church,  where 
there  was  to  be  a  procession  in  the  afternoon.     Women 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         135 

and  children  were  laden  with  plants  and  flowers,  and 
the  men  were  carrying  immense  timbers  to  build  a  stag- 
ing in  the  sacristy.  The  priest  was  a  bright  young  Mex- 
ican with  a  genial  manner,  and  impressed  me  as  a  real 
friend  of  the  Indians.  He  had  two  schools  under  way. 
He  readily  consented  to  my  photographing  the  picture, 
but  the  Indians  looked  on  this  with  disfavor,  and  I  was 
closely  attended  and  narrowly  watched  by  two  patriarchs 
till  my  labors  were  ended.  As  to  the  painting,  it  is 
superb  and  would  repay  a  longer  journey.  Its  interest 
is  enhanced  by  its  quaint  setting  in  this  quaintest  of  old 
pueblos. 

Tzintzuntzan  was  the  seat  of  an  Indian  king  as  early 
as  1400.  There  are  still  extensive  ruins ;  among  them 
one  that  is  said  to  mark  the  site  of  the  palace  of  Cal- 
tzontzi. 

I  went  to  make  my  adieu  to  the  padre  who  was  still 
up  to  his  eyes  in  business  with  his  parishioners,  and  also 
took  leave  of  the  old  Indians  who  had  kept  an  eye  on 
me  to  see  that  I  did  n't  hoodoo  the  picture  with  my 
mysterious  box.  They  were  now  more  cordial  that  they 
found  I  was  going,  but  quite  disappointed  because  I 
could  not  show  them  my  photographs  then  and  there. 
They  inquired  where  my  home  might  be,  and  on  my  telling 
them  in  "  los  Estados  Unidos,"  they  asked  if  it  was  on 
the  other  side  of  the  water  or  where.  They  said  they 
had  heard  of  my  country  which  made  me  justly  proud. 
I  told  them  that  to  reach  theirs  I  traveled  five  days  and 
five  nights.  The  time  was  nothing,  but  they  repeated 
over  and  over,  "  traveling,  traveling,  all  the  days  and 
nights  on  the  machine." 

As  I  left  the  town  I  took  a  snap-shot  at  the  old  tower, 
looming  amid  the  olive  trees,  which  are  said  to  have 
sprung  from  shoots  brought  from  the  Mount  of  Olives. 


136         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

What  tales  we  hear  in  Mexico,  as  though  the  truth  were 
not  quite  romantic  enough !  On  reaching  a  crest  that 
commands  a  view  of  the  lake  and  islands,  I  stopped  to 
use  my  field  glasses.  A  group  of  home-bound  natives 
were  resting  there,  and  they  began  whispering  and  point- 
ing to  the  glasses.  No  doubt  they  all  saw  farther  with 
the  naked  eye  than  I  did  with  the  lens,  but  for  fun  I  let 
them  all  have  a  peep.  Out  of  seven,  but  two  could  see 
at  all.  These  were  like  children  with  a  new  toy,  but  I 
soon  found  that  the  landscape  had  no  charms  for  them. 
The  train  was  just  pulling  into  the  Patzcuaro  station, 
and  again  the  maqiiina  (locomotive)  was  the  center  of 
interest. 

Much  of  the  road  lies  close  to  the  lake  where  one  gets 
almost  a  sea  breeze.  Although  the  way  was  filled  with 
returning  Indians,  when  I  reached  Patzcuaro  the 
plaza  still  presented  a  lively  scene,  and  there  was  a 
reception  at  the  priests'  college,  with  a  brass  band  in 
attendance. 

Patzcuaro  is  full  twenty-minutes'  ride  by  street  car 
from  the  station ;  whereas  the  station  is  but  five  minutes 
ride  from  Patzcuaro ;  fifteen  minutes  representing  the 
difference  between  mule  power  and  gravity.  You  make 
the  ascent  with  much  whip-cracking  and  yelling  from 
the  driver,  and  wild  scrambling  on  the  part  of  the  mules. 
The  return  is  much  like  a  toboggan  slide,  and  full  as 
exciting,  if  the  tracks  happen  to  be  wet  and  the  con- 
ductor does  n't  understand  the  brakes  very  well. 

The  ride  on  the  train  to  Uruapan  is  delightful.  With 
the  descent,  the  landscape  takes  on  a  more  tropical  look, 
and  the  air  becomes  deliciously  soft  and  balmy;  but  al- 
ways with  a  spring-like  freshness.  One  of  the  loveliest 
lakes  I  ever  saw  lies  quite  near  the  line  of  the  railroad. 
Absolutely  still,  without  a  fleck  except  where  the  water 


THE  MAN  WHO  Ln<:ES  MEXICO         139 

fowl  light,  it  mirrors  the  trees,  the  mountains  and  the 
sky. 

Not  only  had  Uruapan's  fame  for  beauty  preceded  it, 
but  I  heard  from  a  Mexican  gentleman  on  the  train  a 
detailed  account  of  the  shooting  and  slashing  affair 
held  a  few  days  since  by  the  robbers  and  gendarmes,  at 
the  house  of  the  former.  Dancing  was  on  the  cards  and 
though  the  gendarmes,  who  were  self-invited  guests,  went 
at  an  unfashionably  late  hour,  their  hosts  received  them 
with  open  arms,  i.  e.,  knives  and  pistols.  One  gendarme 
succumbed  to  a  bullet,  another  to  a  blow  from  a  machete. 
A  third  received  wounds  from  which  he  died  the  next 
day.  At  this  juncture  more  guests  arrived  in  the  persons 
of  the  Jefc  Politico  and  the  soldiers.  One  robber  was 
taken.  The  others  escaped  to  the  mountains,  where  two 
were  captured  and  shot.  In  the  meantime  the  first  pris- 
oner had  been  executed  close  by  the  cemetery  to  save  a 
funeral  procession.  It  was  also  rumored  that  a  female 
robber  who  had  been  aiding  and  abetting  her  admirers 
was  sent  to  keep  him  company.  The  small  local  sheet, 
El  Atnigo  del  Pueblo,  touched  lightly  on  the  affair,  and 
pleaded  lack  of  time  and  space  to  go  into  details  regard- 
ing six  more  bandits  whose  obsequies  would  take  place 
the  following  day.  This  was  all  discussed  in  the  town 
"  under  the  rose,"  but  to  the  casual  observer  Uruapan's 
serenity  remained  unruffled.  There  were  plenty  of 
swarthy  barefooted  soldiers  lounging  about  the  cuartel; 
the  town  was  patrolled  day  and  night  by  uniformed  (and 
barefoot)  gendarmes,  and  occasionally  a  body  of  rurales 
rode  through  on  their  splendid  horses.  Clearly  the  Jefe 
Politico  was  a  man  of  nerve  and  action,  and  meant  to 
make  Uruapan  and  its  surroundings  as  secure  for  resi- 
dents and  visitors,  as  other  parts  of  the  republic. 

When  we  reached  Uruapan  it  had  been  raining.     We 


I40         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

boarded  the  stage  which  was  drawn  by  a  spike-team  of 
mules ;  but  the  roads  were  heavy  and  the  "  point  of  the 
spike  "  refused  to  be  driven,  turning  around  and  trying  to 
chmb  on  the  front  seat  where  I  sat  with  tlie  driver.  Tlie 
latter,  who  was  yelling  "  like  a  wild  Indian,"  gave  me  the 
reins  at  this  juncture  and  got  off  to  straighten  out  things. 
He  took  the  obstreperous  leader  by  the  head  and  yelled :  I 
pounded  the  wheelers  on  the  back  and  yelled  as  near  like 
him  as  possible :  there  was  a  plunge,  a  lurch,  and  we 
were  off;  the  driver  regaining  his  seat  by  a  sort  of 
handspring,  and  continuing  to  emit  yells  at  the  rate  of  a 
new  one  a  second,  till  we  landed  at  the  hotel. 

It  was  a  new  hotel  of  two  stories,  with  large,  clean, 
airy  rooms,  tile  floors  and  iron  bedsteads.  Prices  were 
fifty  cents  daily  for  all  except  rooms  on  the  street  which 
were  one  dollar.  The  restaurant  was  separate,  the  pro- 
prietor himself  superintending  the  cooking.  The  serv- 
ice was  good  and  cost  a  dollar  a  day. 

Uruapan  is  built  on  the  hillside,  and  commands  an  ex- 
tended view  of  the  valley  and  the  mountains  beyond. 
The  surrounding  roads  are  good  and  so  are  the  saddle 
horses.  At  the  time  I  arrived,  Uruapan  was  having  a 
boom  and  did  n't  know  whether  to  be  glad  or  sorry ;  nor 
what  to  do  with  it.  A  boom  is  a  thing  that  strikes  a  town 
like  a  cyclone,  only  worse ;  for  while  your  cyclone  does  a 
neat  job,  removing  the  town  carefully  and  effectually,  the 
boom  simply  whisks  it  uj)  in  the  air,  toys  with  it  a  while, 
and  then  lets  it  down  so  hard  that  it  takes  the  rest  of  its 
natural  life  to  get  its  breath  again.  Uruapan's  boom  I 
rejoice  to  say  was  not  of  this  dangerous  character.  It 
was  a  mild,  indolent,  manana  boom,  tempered  by  siestas 
and  church  festivals.  The  climate  undoubtedly  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  keeping  it  from  becoming  unmanage- 
able.    It  is  true  new  houses  were  being  built  and  many 


THE  MAN  WHO  LU-CES  MEXICO         141 

old  ones  repaired;  but  in  the  time  of  rains  one  can't  be 
expected  to  carry  adobes  and  work  in  the  rain.  Again  if 
the  sun  shines,  just  as  Hkely  as  not  it  is  some  one's  dia 
santo,  and  there  you  are  again.  Seeing  some  workmen 
loitering  in  quite  a  pretentious  building  evidently  about 
half -completed,  I  asked  them  when  it  would  be  finished. 

Plies  qnien  sabe!  It  had  already  been  six  years  un- 
derway, and  it  would  take  at  least  three  more.  The 
sefior  must  realize  that  it  is  a  question  of  much  time  to 
build  so  big  a  house. 

In  this  way  Uruapan's  boom  was  progressing  in  a  slow 
and  dignified  manner,  without  any  fuss. 

Another  thing  Uruapan  had  not  fully  made  up  its 
mind  about  was  the  railroad,  which  caused  the  boom 
and  was  erecting  substantial  passenger  and  freight  depots 
of  gray  stone.  Of  course  the  maquina  lands  one  at  the 
capital  inside  of  twenty-four  hours.  But  one  could  al- 
ways go  on  a  horse  in  nine  days.  The  road  was  quite 
good,  when  it  was  not  raining,  with  only  occasional 
bandidos,  which  gave  opportunity  for  a  little  pistol  prac- 
tice. True  rents  were  higher  and  for  that  matter  every- 
thing brought  a  better  price  than  formerly.  Tourists 
come  with  the  maquina  and  their  money  is  good  money. 
All  the  same,  things  were  very  well  as  they  were ;  and  if 
the  railroad  had  actually  arrived,  it  was  no  fault  of  Urua- 
pan's. 

This  was  all  perfectly  natural ;  and  while,  were  it  not 
for  the  railroad,  I  should  not  have  been  there,  I  could 
sympathize  with  Uruapan.  When  we  have  lived  for 
three  centuries  and  some  odd  scores  of  years,  conserving 
the  customs  and  traditions  of  our  fathers,  leading  a  quiet, 
peaceful  existence,  undisturbed  except  by  an  occasional 
revolution,  conducting  our  affairs,  public  and  private,  not 
as  the  outside  world  would  have  us  perhaps,  but  as  we 


142         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

ourselves  approve  and  prefer,  is  it  strange  if  we  regard 
with  apprehension  mixed  with  distrust  the  approach  of 
that  strange,  unrestful  thing  called  "  progress,"  which 
comes  with  the  maquina  of  the  foreigner  and  is  spelled 
with  a  capital  "  P  "  ? 

I  was  glad  that  I  reached  Uruapan  before  the  moss  of 
three  centuries  had  been  seriously  disturbed.  The  rail- 
road took  me  there,  and  then,  owing  to  a  timely  wash- 
out, the  trains  stopped  running.  .  Uruapan,  once  more 
isolated,  began  spelling  "  progress  "  with  a  small  "  p." 
The  whistle  of  the  maquina  no  longer  disturbed  our 
morning  slumber.  I  imagined  that  I  detected  a  covert 
look  of  satisfaction  on  the  faces  of  the  dons,  as  we  as- 
sembled leisurely  at  the  post-office  to  await  the  arrival  of 
the  mail,  which  came  on  horseback.  Truly  it  was  like 
old  times !  It  gave  one  time  to  look  about  a  bit  and  talk 
with  one's  friends.  Then  too,  there  was  always  the 
subject  of  the  mail  to  fall  back  on.  There  is  a  delightful 
sense  of  chance,  of  uncertainty  about  a  horse  which  a 
maquina  has  no  part  in.  Will  the  mail  arrive  this  morn- 
ing, this  afternoon,  or  not  at  all  ?  Of  course  if  the  mail 
mozo  be  on  good  terms  with  his  sweetheart,  who  lives  in 
the  next  village,  the  chances  are  that  he  will  dally,  and 
hence  the  mail  will  be  quite  late.  If  they  have  quarreled, 
his  horse  will  be  the  sufferer,  and  I  shall  have  my  letters 
before  noon.  I  am  therefore  divided  between  a  friendly 
interest  in  the  good  fortune  of  the  mail  mozo,  and  the 
desire  to  have  my  letters.  When  I  receive  them,  twenty 
steps  will  take  me  to  a  comfortable  bench  in  the  garden 
in  front  of  the  church,  which  is  full  of  roses,  and  shaded 
by  magnificent  ash  trees,  whose  moss-covered  trunks 
and  great  size  proclaim  their  age.  The  old  church,  whose 
front  is  a  dull  terra-cotta,  has  also  its  garniture  of 
emerald  moss  on  its  cornices  and  moldings.     God  and 


rile  ruad  ti>   L  ruajia 


Falls  of  Tzararacua,  Uruapan 


THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO  145 

the  Bishop  forbid  that  church  ever  being  scraped  or 
renovated ! 

The  churches  in  Uruapan  are  much  plainer  than  any  in 
Mexico  and  suggest  in  their  simphcity  the  Cahfornia 
missions.  The  building  is  interesting,  as  in  all  parts  of 
the  country,  and  seems  entirely  an  outgrowth  from  nat- 
ural conditions.  The  main  building  material  is  adobe. 
The  roofs  are  usually  tile,  and  project  far  over  the  side- 
walks, thus  keeping  them  dry  and  affording  shelter  from 
both  sun  and  rain.  Bridges  and  gates  are  invariably 
covered  by  a  picturesque  shake  roof,  which  shelters  the 
pedestrian  and  preserves  the  structure.  The  rainy  sea- 
son is  not  a  matter  of  a  daily  downpour  of  a  few  hours, 
with  sunshine  before  and  after,  but  often  means  a  steady, 
soaking  rain  all  day  and  all  night.  The  town  has  two 
plazas,  separated  by  a  large  building  surrounded  by 
portales.  In  the  first  there  is  a  fountain  with  bushes  that 
suggest  lilacs,  only  their  blooms  are  a  bright  pink.  This 
plaza  is  filled  with  stalls  of  the  Indians  selling  every- 
thing from  fruit  and  sweets  to  shoes  and  clothing,  while 
in  the  second  are  the  band  stand  and  more  stalls.  An- 
other building  with  portales  follows  and  then  comes  the 
really  beautiful  garden,  with  a  monument  to  the  heroes 
of  the  war  of  the  empire.  This  arrangement  of  parks, 
in  the  center  of  the  town,  is  very  pleasing  and  shows  that 
the  founders  had  an  eye  for  beauty. 

Uruapan's  lasting  fame  is  built  on  its  coffee  plantations. 
You  may  ride  in  any  direction,  and  pass  miles  of  vigorous 
coffee  plants  interspersed  with  and  overshadowed  by 
banana  palms.  Many  of  the  plants  are  loaded  with  the 
delicate  white  blossoms,  whose  faint  aroma  approaches 
white  lilac,  while  others  have  the  berry  in  every  stage 
of  development.  Each  berry  has  two  kernels,  with 
the  exception  of   the  highly   prized   Caracolillo,   whose 


146         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

single  kernel  is  supposed  to  possess  the  concentrated 
essence  of  two  of  the  others.  Trees  bear  at  the  age  of 
four  years.  A  skilful  hand  can  pick  from  five  to  six 
arrobas  (25  lbs.  each)  in  a  day,  and  earns  six  realcs 
(seventy-five  cents).  The  berries  must  be  gathered  with 
great  care  not  to  break  the  tiny  stem  about  a  quarter  of 
an  inch  long,  which  immediately  forms  another  bud.  In 
addition  to  bananas,  pineapples,  oranges,  lemons,  mangos, 
and  aguacates,  I  also  saw  the  morcra  tree  whose  leaves 
are  cjuite  large,  fine  in  texture,  and  with  a  sheen  that 
gives  them  the  actual  appearance  of  crinkled  silk ;  so  that 
they  seem  intended  by  nature  for  the  ultimate  end,  which 
is  achieved  with  the  aid  of  the  silkworm. 

What  is  there  to  do  in  Uruapan,  do  you  ask?  In  the 
morning  there  are  the  baths,  with  one  large  tank  of  crys- 
tal-clear water,  where  the  sunshine  streams  in  through 
the  dilapidated  roof,  and  innumerable  small  rooms,  spot- 
lessly clean,  with  whole  roofs,  and  with  showers  of  hot 
and  cold  water.  If  you  go  in  the  tank,  however,  you  will 
be  in  fine  shape  for  a  horseback  ride.  The  acknowledged 
tariff  is  ciiatro  rcales  (or  fifty  cents),  for  a  good  animal 
for  half  a  day. 

The  beautiful  Cupatitzio  River  is  Uruapan's  pride,  and 
several  roads  lead  to  it  with  always  a  charming  view  of 
foaming  waters  and  cascades.  The  falls  of  Tzararacua 
are  very  beautiful  and  well  worth  the  hour  and  a  half 
ride,  which  at  the  last  is  through  the  pine  woods,  and 
down  a  wild  and  picturesque  canon.  The  water  makes  a 
sheer  descent  of  at  least  a  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  ending 
in  a  large  pool  in  the  bottom  of  the  canon.  In  spite  of 
the  beauty  of  the  falls  and  the  vegetation,  there  is  some- 
thing rather  terrible  in  the  deep  and  solitary  ravine,  and 
the  tremendous  roar  of  the  water,  especially  if  one  be 
alone.     I   was  wondering  if   any   unfortunate  had   ever 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         147 

gone  over  the  brink,  when  an  Indian  suddenly  appeared 
from  nowhere,  and  seemed  as  much  surprised  to  see  me 
as  I  was  to  see  him.  I  asked  him  if  any  one  had  ever 
gone  over  and  he  said  yes,  that  a  woman  had ;  and  that 
he  found  her  body  in  that  very  spot.  She  was  bathing 
far  up  the  river  and  was  swept  under  by  the  current. 
He  was  looking  for  stray  cattle  and  coming  into  the 
caiion  found  the  poor  thing  on  the  edge  of  the  pool.  He 
expressed  his  surprise  at  my  going  there  alone  and  said 
at  this  season  the  place  was  sad ;  but  that  after  the  rains, 
it  would  be  the  scene  of  much  festivity,  the  Indians  going 
there  on  Sundays  to  pass  the  day  in  feasting  and  dancing, 
and  returning  home  decked  with  flowers  and  garlands. 

I  had  a  funny  experience  in  connection  with  the  tariff 
on  saddle  horses.  The  adininistrador  mentioned  the  price, 
as  fifty  cents  for  half  a  day,  on  my  arrival,  and  sent  at  my 
request  for  a  man  who  rented  horses.  I  asked  this  worthy 
what  he  would  let  me  have  a  horse  every  morning  for  and 
he  said  seventy-five  cents.  Of  course  this  was  cheap,  but 
at  the  same  time  I  did  n't  like  the  idea  of  his  raising  the 
price  simply  because  I  was  an  American.  I  told  him  so, 
and  he  immediately  dropped  to  fifty  cents,  but  looked  as 
though  he  meant  to  get  even.  The  next  morning  he  sent 
me  a  white  rack-a-bones,  with  a  hip  knocked  down,  and 
his  ribs  projecting  like  barrel  hoops.  I  returned  him 
with  some  doubt  as  to  his  getting  back  to  the  pension, 
and  the  gentleman  I  was  going  out  with  sent  for  one  of 
his  own  horses.  The  next  day  I  interviewed  a  new  man. 
He  had  a  good  horse  but  the  price  was  seventy-five  cents. 
I  made  further  inquiries  of  disinterested  individuals,  and 
they  agreed  that  there  were  saddle  horses  to  burn  at  fifty, 
but  evidently  not  for  me !  Every  horse  owner  I  asked 
said  seventy-five.  It  was  evident  the  owner  of  the  white 
horse  was  boycotting  me,  and  I  determined  not  to  be 


148  THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

boycotted.  I  heard  of  an  ancient  Mexican  on  the  out- 
skirts of  the  town  who  had  good  horses,  and  went  to  see 
him.  He  had  evidently  not  been  tampered  with.  He 
said  the  price  was  fifty  cents  and  that  he  would  get  a 
horse  in  from  his  rancho  for  me.  The  next  morning  I 
paraded  a  spirited  little  pacer,  in  all  the  bravery  of 
the  old  man's  embroidered  saddle  and  silver  bit,  before 
the  face  of  my  horsey  friend.  I  was  still  chuckling 
when  the  mozo  came  the  next  morning  with  the  horse, 
and  a  message  from  the  old  man,  that  he  should  have  to 
charge  me  scis  rcalcs,  each  time.  I  sent  word  that  I 
should  keep  to  my  agreement.  I  put  the  horse  through 
that  morning,  thinking  it  might  be  my  last  ride  with  him, 
and  fell  so  in  love  with  him  I  almost  felt  like  weakening; 
but  I  thought  of  the  white-horse  man,  and  determined 
to  resort  to  that  faithful  if  plodding  steed  known  as 
"  Shank's  mare,  "  before  he  should  have  the  laugh  on 
me.  I  was  in  the  midst  of  dinner  when  there  was  a 
knock,  and  the  old  Mexican  entered,  in  silver-trimmed 
charro  suit,  big  hat,  clanking  spurs  and  a  sword.  Scis 
rcalcs  was  written  all  over  the  wily  old  countenance.  I 
whispered  cuafro  to  myself  and  gave  him  a  chair.  I  also 
gave  him  a  drink,  a  piiro  and  a  cup  of  cofifee.  I  showed 
him  my  spurs,  my  pistol,  my  watch,  some  photographs 
and  my  lemonade-shaker.  I  got  him  to  tell  me  about 
his  trip  to  Mexico  and  his  fight  with  the  bandits.  Then 
I  gave  him  another  puro.  When  at  last  he  tore  himself 
away  I  handed  him  cuatro  and  asked  him  what  the  mozo 
meant  by  talking  about  seis.  He  professed  profound 
ignorance  and  said  there  would  never  be  any  question  of 
money  between  him  and  me.  He  had  a  flyer  brought 
from  his  rancho  that  made  the  first  pony  fade  into  in- 
signifiance ;  and  he  dropi'ted  in  every  day  for  coffee  and 
a  chat  with  his  "  hiicn  anu'go  cl  Americano." 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         149 

Uriiapan  was  founded  in  1533  by  the  good  Fray  Juan 
de  San  Miguel,  who  seems  to  have  been  a  second  Las 
Casas  in  his  devotion  to  the  Indians.  Nothing  is  known 
regarding  his  birthplace,  nor  when  he  came  to  New 
Spain.  He  appeared  in  1531  with  another  priest  named 
Antonio  de  Lisboa,  among  the  Indians  of  IMorelia,  which 
was  then  called  Valle  de  Olid  after  the  Spanish  captain, 
who  took  possession  of  Michoacan  in  the  name  of  his 
sovereign.  The  original  name  of  the  town  was  later 
changed  to  Valladolid.  These  poor  priests,  barefooted 
and  in  rags,  with  but  five  rcalcs  between  them,  won  the 
confidence  and  love  of  the  Indians  and  built  a  Christian 
church.  Fray  Juan  de  San  Miguel  subsequently  trav- 
ersed the  whole  of  Michoacan,  collecting  the  frightened 
Indians,  converting  them  to  Christianity,  founding 
pueblos  and  building  churches.  He  established  schools 
in  all  of  which  music  was  taught,  and  the  best  voices  were 
selected  for  the  service  of  the  church.  Uruapan  is  said 
not  only  to  occupy  the  loveliest  spot  in  the  valley,  but  in 
the  whole  state.  When  the  good  padre  saw  the  beautiful 
river  Cupatitzio  with  its  abundance  of  clear  cold  water, 
he  recognized  an  ideal  place  for  a  town,  and  at  once  be- 
gan apportioning  lots  of  land  to  the  people,  laying  out  the 
plazas  and  the  streets,  and  dividing  the  town  into  barrios 
or  districts.  After  directing  the  building  of  houses  for 
the  Indians  and  the  planting  of  grain  and  fruit  trees,  he 
began  the  erection  of  the  church ;  and  later  built  the 
hospital  which  is  said  to  have  been  the  second  hospital 
in  the  Americas.  This  was  necessary  for  housing  the 
multitude  of  poor  and  infirm  Indians  who  besieged  him 
for  protection.  Here  they  found  a  home  and  were  pro- 
vided with  employment  which  made  them  in  a  measure 
self-supporting.  The  statue  of  this  devoted  man  still 
adorns  the  front  of  the  little  chapel  of  La  Purisima,  and 


ISO         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

his  portrait  hangs  in  the  sacristy  of  the  ancient  church. 
His  memory  is  held  in  love  and  reverence,  not  only  in  the 
valley  of  Uruapan,  but  in  all  the  state  of  Michoacan. 

While  in  Uruapan,  I  read  a  book  written  in  1639  by 
Fray  Alonso  de  la  Rea,  who  was  evidently  a  cultured 
man,  and  who  wrote  in  a  clear  and  concise  manner.  The 
good  padre  says  that  in  spite  of  conflicting  opinions  as 
to  the  origin  of  the  Tarasco  Indians,  he  is  satisfied  they 
were  not  the  first  settlers  of  Michoacan,  but  that  they  are 
actually  a  branch  of  the  Aztecs  or  Mexicans,  who  were 
the  last  of  the  incoming  northern  tribes.  He  says  the 
ancients  of  the  tribe  claim  that  their  people  came  with 
eight  other  nations  from  a  place  called  Chicomotztotl, 
meaning  "  Seven  Caves."  (Modern  historians  refer  to 
this  point,  which  is  north  of  Zacatecas,  merely  as  a  rest- 
ing-place on  the  line  of  march.)  He  was  satisfied  of 
the  main  accuracy  of  their  statement,  from  the  existence 
of  a  very  old  painting  on  cloth,  which  still  existed  in  the 
pueblo  of  Cucutacato,  near  Uruapan.  This  depicted  the 
departure  of  nine  tribes  from  seven  caves,  and  their  sub- 
sequent journeyings.  The  padre  again  refers  to  Seven 
Caves  as  being  in  the  country  called  by  the  Indians 
"  Aztlan,  "  (The  best  authorities  are  now  agreed  that 
Aztlan  was  in  California.) 

The  Tarascos,  who  were  then  an  ofifshoot  from  the 
nine  tribes  but  principally  from  the  Azteca,  founded 
Tzintzuntzan,  which  conies  from  Tzintzuni,  meaning  lit- 
tle bird  with  green  plumage,  that  sips  the  honey  of  flowers 
(hummingbird).  Another  name  for  the  same  bird  was 
Huitzilin,  from  which  came  Huitzilopochtli,  the  title  of 
the  Mexican  war-god.  The  birth  of  the  god  Huitzilo- 
pochtli typified  the  immaculate  conception  of  the  Indians. 
His  mother  Coatlicuc,  tlic  goddess  with  the  skirt  of 
serpents,  was  sweeping  the  temple  on  the  hill  of  Coatepec, 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         151 

when  she  saw  rolHng  towards  her  a  coil  of  feathers.  She 
caught  it  up  and  placed  it  beneath  her  waistband.  She 
immediately  became  pregnant,  and  in  due  time,  being  still 
a  virgin,  bore  Huitzilopochtli,  who  came  into  the  world 
with  a  shield  in  his  left  hand,  while  his  right  clasped  a 
dart  or  arrow  of  a  blue  color.  His  face  was  terrible 
from  the  first,  showing  his  fierce  nature.  On  his  brow 
was  a  tuft  of  the  bright  green  feathers  of  the  humming- 
bird. The  Indians  said  his  name  was  also  partly  de- 
rived from  Tlahuipochi,  "  he  who  vomits  fire,"  and  the 
god  was  depicted  as  being  engaged  in  this  pleasant  occu- 
pation. In  this  tradition  originated  the  manufacture  of 
the  famous  green  feather  work  for  which  these  Indians 
were  noted,  "  and  thus  we  see  that  the  Tarascos  were 
led  by  this  false  god,"  says  Fray  Alonso. 

Among  the  most  admirable  qualities  of  these  people, 
was  their  ingenuity,  which  was  not  confined  to  one  or  two 
materials,  but  showed  itself  in  all  they  did.  "  Thus  their 
works  are  known  and  applauded  throughout  the  world." 
They  were  particularly  successful  as  sculptors,  and 
so  skilful  in  painting  that  all  the  churches  of  this  province 
are  adorned  by  hangings  and  pictures  made  by  these  same 
Indians ;  "  with  such  beauty  of  color,  that  we  need  not 
envy  even  the  brush  of  Rome !  "  They  were  the  in- 
ventors of  foundry-work,  and  before  the  conquest  made 
sundry  small  castings  which  they  bartered  with  the  other 
nations  in  trade.  Under  the  guidance  of  master  work- 
men, who  came  with  the  frailes,  they  became  wonder- 
fully efficient  in  making  bells,  trumpets  and  sackbuts. 
(The  clock  bells  in  the  church  at  Uruapan  are  literally 
"  silvered-toned.  ")  Among  the  articles  of  feather-work 
were  pictures,  images,  shields,  tapestries,  miters  and 
robes.  The  Periban  painting  (on  wood)  was  invented 
here.     It  is  not  only  beautiful,  but  so  lasting  as  to  be 


152         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

hardly  affected  by  time;  seeming  to  become  part  of  the 
wood  itself  and  lasting  while  the  wood  lasts.  The  process 
consists  in  applying  first  a  coat  of  varnish,  and  rubbing  it 
dry.  The  pattern  or  drawing  is  then  pricked  into  the 
wood  with  a  graver,  and  the  colors  laid  on  and  rubbed 
with  the  palm  of  the  hand,  until  a  gloss  equal  to  the 
finest  lacquer  is  obtained.  The  articles  made  are  writing 
desks,  boxes,  trunks,  tccomates,  vases,  trays,  bowls  and 
jars.  This  craft  seems  to  have  deteriorated,  at  least  as 
to  variety.  The  Indians  still  make  a  number  of  small 
articles  that  are  very  attractive. 

The  Tarascos  are  also  famous  for  their  life-like  sculp- 
tures of  the  body  of  Christ,  which  are  prized  throughout 
Europe.  It  is  true,  they  had  their  first  examples  of  the 
effigy  in  those  brought  by  the  priests ;  but  they  are  the 
inventors  of  a  remarkable  paste  which  lends  itself  won- 
derfully to  the  work.  To  make  this  they  cut  the  young 
corn  stalks  and  extract  the  heart,  which  they  grind  into 
a  pulp  or  paste  called  tatzingueni,  from  which  they  make 
the  famous  Christos  de  Michoacan.  These  images  are 
not  only  beautifully  proportioned,  but  so  light  that  while 
many  are  six  feet  high,  they  weigh  no  more  than  if  made 
of  feathers.  In  addition  to  all  these  achievements, 
they  have  also  made  organs  entirely  of  wood,  and  pos- 
sessed of  most  beautiful  tone. 

The  Tarascos  were  and  are  still  serious  and  thorough  in 
all  that  pertains  to  their  religion.  Among  their  ancient 
ceremonies,  the  burial  of  their  kings  is  noteworthy. 
When  a  monarch  realized  that  his  end  was  at  hand,  he 
appointed  his  eldest  son  his  successor,  and  began  to  in- 
struct him  in  all  that  pertained  to  his  office.  The  new 
king  then  summoned  all  the  nobles  to  assist  in  the  last 
sad  rites.  The  one  who  failed  to  appear  was  considered 
a  traitor  to  the  crown.     Each  was  expected  to  condole 


A  Tarasco  fiesta 


I,..-,   s/:ill,is   U"Lk-flgllt) 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  155 

with  the  dying  monarch  and  to  bring  some  rich  gift.  At 
the  last  moment  all  were  denied  entrance  to  the  death 
chamber,  unless  some  one  proclaimed  himself  able  to 
avert  the  fatal  stroke.  When  all  was  over,  every  one 
was  admitted  and  the  lamentations  began,  followed  by 
the  pomps  and  ceremonials  of  the  interment. 

The  body  was  first  bathed  and  then  clothed  in  a  long 
robe,  and  the  sandals  (emblem  of  valor)  were  attached  to 
the  feet.  The  ankles  had  golden  bells  and  the  wrists, 
strings  of  turquoise.  The  headdress  was  of  plumes  with 
rich  embroidery  and  jewels.  There  were  splendid  collars 
and  necklaces,  ear-rings,  bracelets  and  an  emerald  pend- 
ant for  the  lower  lip  called  teutitl.  The  body  was 
placed  on  a  bier  and  covered  with  a  mantle,  on  which 
was  painted  a  portrait  of  the  dead  king  with  all  his 
adornments.  The  women  were  then  admitted  to  wail  and 
mourn  over  their  departed  lord. 

The  next  step  is  to  designate  the  men  and  women  who 
are  to  serve  him  in  the  next  world,  and  must  suffer  death 
to  accompany  him.  These  are  named  by  his  successor, 
who  first  selects  seven  women  whose  offices  are  as  fol- 
lows:  one  to  bear  the  bezotcs  (lip-rings)  used  by  the 
king,  which  are  of  inestimable  value;  one  for  jewel- 
keeper;  one  cup-bearer;  one  aguamanos  (hand  washer)  ; 
a  cook,  and  two  servants.  The  men  form  a  much  larger 
company  including  one  each  of  the  following  named: 
keeper  of  the  wardrobe ;  hair-comber ;  hair-brusher ; 
wreath-maker;  chair-bearer;  wood-chopper;  mosqueador 
(fly-killer);  fire-blower;  shoe-maker;  perfume-bearer; 
oarsman ;  boatman ;  sweeper ;  white-washer ;  king's  por- 
ter ;  porter  for  the  women  ;  feather-worker  ;  silver-smith ; 
bow  and  arrow  maker ;  tavern-keeper ;  buffoon  or  jester ; 
("  that  el  inilerno  may  not  lack  in  jollity !  "  adds  the 
padre).     There  were  also  hunters  and  several  doctors, 


156         THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO 

among  them  those  who  had  failed  to  cure  the  king  in  his 
last  illness.  Then  came  the  musicians  and  a  host  of 
volunteers,  who,  if  worthy  people,  were  not  allowed  to 
carry  out  their  design  of  self-sacrifice. 

The  funeral  procession  left  the  palace  at  midnight, 
preceded  first  by  people  weeping  and  cleaning  the  way 
and  then  by  the  victims,  whose  heads  were  adorned  with 
wreaths  and  their  bodies  painted  bright  yellow.  Next 
came  the  musicians  with  clarinets,  trumpets  and  drums 
of  tortoise  shell.  The  bier  was  borne  on  the  shoulders 
of  the  sons  and  chief  nobles,  and  accompanied  by  many 
torch-bearers,  all  chanting  as  they  went  the  glories  of  the 
departed,  together  with  the  praises  of  his  successor. 
On  reaching  the  temple  enclosure,  they  circled  four 
times  the  huge  funeral  pyre,  and  then  placed  the  body 
on  the  summit,  still  chanting  as  they  set  it  on  fire.  Then 
while  it  was  burning,  they  caught  and  killed  the  aforesaid 
servants  who  were  to  attend  their  master,  beating  them 
over  the  heads  with  heavy  clubs.  These  wretches  had 
been  previously  stupefied  with  drink,  that  they  might  not 
resist.  Their  bodies  were  cast,  two  and  two,  into  im- 
mense jars.  This  slaughter  lasted  till  daybreak,  when  the 
ashes  of  the  king  were  enveloped  in  the  mantle  which 
had  covered  the  body,  together  with  the  melted  jewels  and 
ornaments,  and  carried  to  the  entrance  of  the  temple. 
Over  the  remains  were  placed  a  mask  of  turquoise,  a 
golden  shield,  and  bow  and  arrows.  A  large  tomb  was 
opened  in  the  stairway  of  the  temple.  A  noble  then  took 
the  ashes  of  his  sovereign  in  his  arms,  and,  entering  the 
tomb  placed  them  upon  a  bed  richly  ornamented  with 
gold  and  silver.  A  huge  olla  was  then  introduced  in 
the  shape  of  a  man.  The  remains  were  placed  in  it,  and 
the  olla  sealed  and  left  with  its  face  turned  to  the  east, 
after  being  wrapped  in  mantles.     The  urns  containing 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         157 

the  servants'  bodies  followed,  with  articles  for  domestic 
service,  plumes,  costumes  for  feasts  and  many  jewels. 
The  tomb  was  then  closed  and  sealed.  All  who  had 
touched  the  bodies  bathed  carefully  to  avoid  a  pest  and 
the  company  returned  to  the  palace.  There  they  were 
seated  in  chairs  richly  carved,  and  feasted  elaborately.  A 
handkerchief  was  then  given  to  each,  and  they  were  ex- 
pected to  remain  for  five  days,  seated  in  the  court,  with 
bowed  heads  and  funereal  aspect,  without  uttering  a 
word  to  any  one.  During  these  five  days  no  corn  was 
ground,  nor  fire  lighted.  Later  they  retired  to  their 
homes  to  continue  fasting  and  praying  for  the  repose  of 
the  monarch's  soul ;  and  the  nobles  went  every  night  to  the 
temple  to  renew  their  lamentations  at  the  tomb. 

These  wearisome  and  long-drawn-out,  not  to  say  hor- 
rible, rites  must  have  been  purgatory  on  earth  for  all 
concerned;  and  doubtless  before  they  were  ended  the 
new  king  almost  wished  the  old  one  had  n't  died.  The 
Tarascos,  who  are  everywhere  in  evidence  in  this  land, 
are  said  to  be  as  formal  and  punctilious  in  all  observances 
of  their  present  religion,  as  they  were  in  the  old,  and 
serious  at  all  times.  Their  ancient  splendor  has  vanished 
and  one  almost  wonders  if  such  things  have  really  been. 
They  still  hold  the  quaintest  fiestas  in  the  different  barrios, 
where  the  music,  decorations  and  customs  are  unique 
and  half  barbaric;  but  in  all  their  feasting,  drinking  and 
dancing  they  preserve  absolute,  unmoved  solemnity. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Return  to  Mexico :  Mexicans  True  Friends :  Queretaro  the 
Beautiful:  The  Works  of  Tres  Guerras :  The  Aqueduct:  A 
Visit  to  the  Hill  of  The  Bells :  The  Country  Remained  at 
Peace:  Guadalajara  the  Pearl  of  the  West :  The  City's  Even- 
ing Life:  In  Beauty's  Ranks:  The  Charro  Horseman: 
Things  that  are  Different :  Social  Customs :  An  Inquisitive 
Shopkeeper. 

URUAPAN'S  boom  never  came  to  life  again  dur- 
ing my  stay  of  four  weeks.  This  was  due  to 
the  heavy  and  continuous  rains  and  to  repeated 
washouts  on  the  railroad,  which  prevented  the  running  of 
trains,  without  which  no  boom  can  survive.  Despite 
the  daily  downpour,  the  mornings  were  usually  fine,  and 
I  seldom  missed  an  early  ride,  often  returning  as  fast 
as  my  horse  could  run  in  a  warm,  drenching  rain.  The 
storms  are  sudden  and  violent,  and  while  Uruapan  has' 
a  temperate  and  quite  ideal  climate,  it  is  situated  on  the 
edge  of  the  hot  country,  which  it  in  some  ways  resembles. 
I  began  to  long  for  Mexico  City,  and  feeling  rested 
and  refreshed  by  the  balmy  air  and  constant  out-of-door 
exercise,  and  with  nerves  relaxed  by  the  lower  altitude 
(Uruapan's  altitude  is  but  5,500  feet)  I  resolved  to  re- 
turn to  Mexico.  I  had  heard  that  the  road-bed  was  be- 
ing repaired,  but  as  rumors  were  vague  as  to  when  the 
trains  would  go  through,  I  engaged  a  mozo,  with  saddle 
and  pack-animals,  to  convoy  me  in  the  direction  of  the 
capital,  with  the  agreement  that  he  should  not  desert  me 
until  he  saw  me  on  board  a  railway  train.     This  gave 

158 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  i6i 

me  an  opportunity  to  see  the  rich  coffee  plantations, 
through  which  we  were  riding  all  day.  Fortunately  for  me 
the  rains  held  off,  and  I  enjoyed  the  journey,  which  was 
marred  by  but  one  accident.  The  mule  that  was  carry- 
ing my  trunk  got  mired  in  a  mud-hole  and  sank  rapidly 
until  only  her  head  and  the  top  of  my  trunk  were  visible. 
The  mozo  jumped  off  his  horse  and  leaped  in  after  her 
and  I  feared  both  would  be  lost.  But  at  that  moment  a 
number  of  pack  mules  came  in  sight,  from  the  opposite 
direction,  and  the  two  Indians  who  were  in  charge  of 
them  jumped  off  their  horses  and  into  the  mud-hole  to 
help  my  mozo.  It  was  a  funny  sight  but  for  them  doubt- 
less a  common  occurrence.  With  grunts,  whistles  and 
cheerful  ejaculations,  among  w^hich  was  the  familiar 
"  Andale !  "  they  half-shoved,  half-lifted  the  mule  out  of 
the  mud-hole.  A  more  good-natured  bit  of  "  lend-a- 
hand  "  work  I  never  saw,  and  while  I  gave  them  money, 
it  seemed  a  poor  return  for  their  prompt  and  friendly 
aid.  The  best  of  all,  though,  were  the  compliments  ex- 
changed between  them  and  my  mozo  on  parting,  when 
they  gravely  lifted  their  hats  to  each  other. 

Shortly  after  sundown  we  arrived  at  the  railway  junc- 
tion of  Acambaro,  where  I  found  the  road  intact,  and 
where  I  shared  the  kind  hospitality  of  the  American 
foreman  who  was  living  in  a  box-car,  and  who  made  me 
welcome  to  supper  and  a  bed.  The  following  morning 
I  got  a  train  for  Mexico  City,  arriving  there  late  that 
night. 

I  now  began  to  appreciate  the  pleasures  of  friendship 
with  the  Mexicans.  Don  Juan,  my  other  fellow- 
boarders,  and  my  hostess  received  me  so  kindly  as  to 
make  my  return  seem  a  veritable  home-coming.  They 
plied  me  with  questions  about  the  cities  I  had  visited, 
and  I  then  observed  what  always  impressed  me  while  in 


i62         THE  MAN  WHO  LHvES  MEXICO 

Mexico,  namely  the  manifest  pleasure  of  the  Mexicans 
in  the  enjoyment  of  visitors  to  their  country.  After 
several  weeks  at  the  pleasant  house  in  Calle  San  Agustin, 
which  I  soon  came  to  regard  as  home,  and  which  I  made 
my  headquarters  throughout  my  stay  in  the  country,  I 
decided  to  go  on  another  journey.  My  friends  now  ad- 
vised me  to  visit  Queretaro,  the  capital  of  the  state  of  the 
same  name,  famed  for  its  fine  churches,  and  Guadalajara, 
capital  of  the  state  of  Jalisco,  which  for  its  many  charms 
is  often  called  "  Pearl  of  the  Occident."  Don  Juan, 
whose  vacations  were  near,  invited  me  to  visit  him  at 
his  home,  which  was  in  Lagos,  a  city  I  must  pass  through 
in  going  north.  This  was  my  first  invitation  to  visit  the 
home  of  a  friend,  and  I  accepted  it  with  pleased  antici- 
pation. We  accordingly  agreed  that  after  a  month  spent 
in  visiting  Queretaro,  Guadalajara  and  Guanajuato, 
which  the  Howards  had  told  me  was  the  quaintest,  most 
picturesque  city  in  Mexico,  I  should  proceed  to  the  city 
of  Lagos,  where  Don  Juan  would  meet  me  at  the  station. 
And  such  was  my  trust  in  Don  Juan's  loyalty  I  had 
no  more  doubt  that  I  should  find  him  there  at  the  ap- 
pointed time  than  that  I  should  be  there  myself. 

Don  Juan  further  showed  his  interest  in  my  travels 
by  accompanying  me  to  the  train,  which  left  for 
Queretaro  at  nine  a.  m.  The  custom  of  seeing  friends 
off  in  Mexico  is  immutable.  The  time  has  been  when  a 
Mexican  friend  would  rise  before  daylight  to  accompany 
me  to  the  train  and  I  knew  protestation  would  be  vain. 
It  is  customary  between  friends.  It  would  have  been 
the  same  to  Don  Juan  had  the  Queretaro  train  left  at 
midday  or  at  midnight.  With  a  hearty  hug,  which  I 
now  participated  in  as  naturally  as  hand-shaking,  we 
said  "  Adios !  "  and  "  Ilasta  luego  !  "  which  means  "  Until 
soon!"  and  I  was  once  more  en  camino  (en  route). 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         i6 


o 


We  reached  Oueretaro  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 
I  was  tempted  to  beHeve  that  the  cargador  who  hailed 
me,  saying,  "Here  I  am,  my  chief!"  had  run  all  the 
way  from  IMexico  he  looked  so  natural.  I  have  heard 
strange  tales  of  these  Indians  traveling  across  lots  and 
beating  railway  trains.  He  held  up  his  badge  to  show 
me  his  number,  assuring  me  I  could  trust  him,  so  I 
handed  my  traps  through  the  window.  A  street  car  ran 
from  the  station  to  the  center  of  the  city  and  on  reaching 
the  terminus,  the  driver,  who  was  Indio  legitimo,  wound 
the  reins  round  the  brake  and  politely  escorted  me  to 
my  hotel.  Centavos  are  but  slight  return  for  such  cour- 
tesies as  these. 

It  was  at  the  hotel,  however,  that  I  discovered  my 
star  was  really  in  the  ascendant.     I  had  long  heard  of 

Doctor   S as  a  charming  and   cultured  man  who, 

after  traveling  the  world  over,  had  settled  on  Oueretaro 
for  a  home.  I  thought  I  might  venture  to  introduce  my- 
self on  the  strength  of  our  having  a  mutual  friend ;  but 
resolved  to  be  most  discreet.  Foreign  residents,  in  good 
standing  in  Mexico,  do  not  as  a  rule  sufifer  from  any 
lack  of  visitors.  Judge  of  my  amazement  then  when 
the  doctor,  after  regarding  me  searchingly  for  a  moment, 
asked,  "Are  you  the  man  who  likes  Mexico?"  I  put 
on  a  bold  front  and  answered,  "  At  your  service."  Then 
I  cast  a  surreptitious  glance  over  my  shoulder  half  ex- 
pecting to  see  a  gendarme  at  the  door.  What  had  I 
ever  said  about  doctors?  But  the  doctor  didn't  turn 
me  over  to  the  authorities.  He  took  me  under  his  be- 
nevolent wing  then  and  there.  As  a  result  I  had  an 
opportunity  to  view  the  art  treasures  of  this  ancient 
city,  as  only  one  with  a  friend  at  court  can  do,  and  to 
hear  the  world-reminiscences  of  a  most  interesting  man. 

Our   first  visit   was   to   the   Governor's   palace.     The 


i64         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

doctor  said  he  had  business  at  the  palace,  asking  with  an 
apology  if  I  would  mind  waiting  for  him  a  few  minutes. 
He  led  the  way  into  the  reception  sala  and  called  my 
attention  to  the  magnificent  chairs  and  tables  of  solid 
mahogany,  beautifully  carved,  and  the  great  mirrors  in 
their  superb  gold  frames.  Then  a  gentleman  appeared 
in  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  sala  and  bowed.  The 
doctor  arose  and  asked  me  to  accompany  him.  We 
passed  into  an  adjoining  room  and  I  found  myself  in 
the  presence  of  the  Governor  of  Oueretaro.  Had  I 
realized  the  honor  before  me  I  should  have  been  a  bit 
nervous  and  tried  to  think  what  I  should  say.  My 
anxiety  would  have  been  needless,  however,  for  no  vis- 
itor could  be  ill  at  ease  with  Governor  Cosio.  Like 
many  distinguished  men,  he  possessed  the  courtesy  and 
kindliness  that  are  reassuring  and  delightful  to  strangers. 
He  at  once  addressed  us  in  English  and  paid  us  the  com- 
pliment of  speaking  English  throughout  our  visit.  He 
was  a  very  handsome  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  elegant, 
dignified,  yet  singularly  unassuming.  I  shall  remember 
our  visit  as  a  most  delightful  experience. 

We  afterwards  saw  the  palace.  The  museum,  which 
occupies  one  of  the  smaller  salas,  is  an  impressive  and 
significant  exhibit.  There  are  the  relics  recalling  the 
tragic  end  of  a  dream-empire,  and  the  sad  fate  of  Maxi- 
milian, Miramon,  Mejia  and  Mendez.  One  of  the  most 
interesting  objects  is  the  rusty  lock,  through  whose  key- 
hole the  famous  Corregidora  (chief  magistrate's  wife) 
Doha  Josefa  Ortiz  de  Dominguez,  a  prisoner  in  her  own 
house  by  order  of  her  husband,  sent  a  whispered  message 
to  Hidalgo  that  his  plans  were  discovered,  thereby  pre- 
cipitating the  grito  (cry)  of  independence  and  the  revo- 
lution. A  portrait  of  this  noble  dame  shows  a  strong 
commanding   face,   suggesting  the   patrician,   but   above 


\\  ■  >    \  l(.-\V 


s  of  the  patio  in  the  federal  pahice,  (^ueietaro 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         167 

all  the  fearless,  patriotic  spirit,  ready  to  do  and  dare  all 
for  her  beloved  country. 

Queretaro's  churches  are  superb.  They  are  quite  dif- 
ferent from  those  of  Mexico,  Puebla  and  Morelia,  It 
was  here  that  Tres  Guerras  lavished  the  wealth  of  his 
wonderful  genius.  One  need  not  be  an  artist  to  be  af- 
fected by  this  man's  work.  The  church  of  Santa  Rosa, 
with  its  lovely  tower  and  dome  and  quaint  flying-but- 
tresses, all  distinctly  Oriental,  is  startlingly  beautiful. 
Much  of  the  interior  is  by  Tres  Guerras'  own  hand. 
The  main  altar  has  been  destroyed,  but  the  side  altars 
with  their  magnificent  gold  and  green  ornamentation 
are  still  left.  The  paintings  are  Tres  Guerras' :  the  ex- 
quisite crucifix  is  his:  and  all  are  perfect.  The  end  of 
the  sacristry  is  filled  by  a  large  canvas  showing  the  old 
convent  garden,  with  the  nuns  at  their  duties  among  the 
flowers.  From  the  church,  where  we  had  been  received 
kindly  by  the  good  padre,  a  gentle  and  courteous  man, 
we  wandered  into  the  old  convent  gardens  and  through 
the  orchard,  under  drooping  boughs  and  trailing  vines. 
On  every  side  towered  masses  of  solid  masonry.  The 
convent  is  now  used  as  a  hospital  but  it  is  so  extensive 
that  a  large  portion  of  it  is  necessarily  unoccupied. 

I  have  written  of  Santa  Rosa  because  it  is  the  crown- 
ing glory  of  Queretaro.  Every  one  will  tell  you  that. 
Even  the  Indian  of  whom  you  ask  the  name  of  another 
church  will  inquire  anxiously  if  you  have  seen  Santa 
Rosa.  Another  splendid  building  is  the  old  convent  of 
the  Augustines,  now  the  Federal  Palace.  It  has  the 
finest  patio  I  have  seen,  with  a  lovely  old  fountain  and 
corridors  of  the  rose-colored  Queretaro  stone,  magnifi- 
cently carved.  The  gorgeous  tower  of  the  church,  seen 
from  the  patio,  never  finished  yet  grand  in  its  incom- 
pleteness, adds  the  sadly  poetic  note  common  to  Mexico's 


i68         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

ancient  edifices.  Santa  Clara,  San  Felipe,  Santo  Do- 
mingo and  many  others  are  also  very  imposing.  I  know 
little  about  building  but  revere  it  above  all  the  other  arts, 
and  realize  dimly  its  influence  on  humanity.  Not  all 
pictures  nor  all  music  are  for  all  people ;  but  buildings 
are.  I  felt  this  as  never  before  when  the  Indian  in- 
quired so  anxiously,  "  Have  you  seen  Santa  Rosa  ?  " 

Another  example  of  wonderful  building  is  the  great 
aqueduct  which  brings  an  abundance  of  crystal-clear 
water  to  Queretaro.  First  you  must  see  it  by  day. 
Note  its  seventy-two  arches,  the  center  one  more  than 
sixty  feet  in  the  clear  and  its  great  length  of  over  six 
hundred  meters.  Then  go  again  at  moonrise.  The 
arches  cast  their  long  shadows  across  the  quiet  valley 
and  the  ruined  hacienda  lies  white  and  silent  in  the 
moonlight.  Aqueducts  lend  a  certain  stateliness  to  a 
city,  like  that  given  a  mansion  by  a  long  approach  be- 
tween rows  of  trees.  They  are  monuments  to  courage, 
skill  and  untiring  labor  and  they  confer  on  the  city  to 
which  they  pay  tribute,  all  the  dignity  that  these  terms 
convey. 

Queretaro  owes  her  aqueduct  to  her  noble  benefactor, 
the  Marques  de  la  Villa  del  Villar  del  Aguila,  who  gave 
$88,000  from  his  private  purse.  The  total  cost  of  con- 
struction was  something  over  $131,000.  It  was  begun  in 
1726  and  completed  nine  years  later.  In  the  Plaza  de  la 
Independencia  there  is  a  fine  statue  of  the  Marques  by 
Diego  Alamaras  Guillen.  It  is  beautifully  carved  from 
native  stone  and  its  noble  proportions  and  life-like  pose 
mark  the  sculptor  a  man  of  genius.  The  pedestal  rises 
from  a  fountain  basin,  begun  in  1843.  The  original 
statue  was  destroyed  by  a  cannon  ball  during  the  siege 
of  '(Sj. 

The  lineal  descendants  of  the  last  marques  and  the 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  169 

direct  heir  to  the  title  is  Dr.  Jose  Fernandez  de  Jauregui, 
a  resident  of  Queretaro,  whom  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting.  Among  the  heirlooms  in  Dr.  Jauregui's  pos- 
session are  the  gorgeous  costumes  worn  by  his  ancestors, 
the  marques  and  his  lady.  They  are  more  than  a  cen- 
tury and  a  half  old,  yet  the  gloss  of  the  velvet,  the  sheen 
of  the  satin  are  undimmed  by  time.  There  is  a  won- 
derful gown  of  emerald  green  velvet  heavily  embroidered 
in  gold,  with  a  little  shoulder  cape  brilliant  with  cut 
stones  and  embroidery.  There  is  a  dress  of  apricot 
satin,  wrought  with  silver  and  one  fancies  the  rich  beauty 
of  the  marquesa  at  its  best  in  this  setting.  The  marques 
was  just  as  resplendent  in  velvet  and  brilliants  and  gold 
embroidery  with  a  silken  montcra  (net)  to  hold  his 
long  tresses  which  have  left  their  mark  on  the  coat- 
collars.  By  favor  of  Carlos  V  the  family  were  allowed 
to  employ  the  royal  coat-of-arms  in  their  decorations ; 
and  in  the  collection  are  a  dozen  or  more  medallions  of 
silk  and  gold,  which  were  used  on  the  backs  of  chairs 
and  divans.  There  are  also  some  black  pearl  ornaments 
which  are  priceless. 

I  like  Queretaro.  It  is  not  only  charming  and  pic- 
turesque but  spotlessly  clean.  The  air  at  this  elevation, 
somewhat  over  six  thousand  feet,  is  mildly  invigorating. 
I  had  always  supposed  the  city's  fame  rested  on  its 
churches  and  its  historic  interest.  In  future  I  shall 
never  tire  of  praising  its  perfect  climate  and  its  de- 
licious waters.  The  baths  of  Patche  in  the  suburbs  are 
medicinal  and  peculiarly  efficacious  in  rheumatism.  The 
favorite  bathing  resort,  however,  is  the  beautiful  Canada, 
forty-minutes'  ride  by  street  car  from  the  center  of  the 
city.  I  wish  I  might  write  more  at  length  of  Queretaro, 
of  its  hospital,  orphanage,  and  schools,  especially  the  fine 
state   college,   with   observatory  and   museum   attached. 


170         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

The  young  people  have  every  educational  advantage  and 
among  them  are  many  brilliant  musicians.  That  night 
we  heard  in  rehearsal  the  "  Pilgrim's  Chorus "  from 
"  Tannhauser,"  by  a  full  orchestra,  accompanied  by 
pianos  and  organ  played  by  four  fair  young  Queretanas. 
We  were  in  the  beautiful  Plaza  de  la  Independencia. 
The  place  was  flooded  with  moonlight;  the  fountain  was 
splashing  softly ;  and  on  the  still  night  air  came  the 
glorious  strains  of  Wagner. 

The  second  evening  we  climbed  el  Cerro  de  las  Cam- 
panas  (Hill  of  the  Bells)  to  watch  the  sun  go  down  and 
see  the  mountain  shadows  fall  upon  the  city.  Austria's 
emperor  was  erecting  a  little  chapel  there  in  memory  of 
his  brother  Maximilian,  and  the  Generals  Miramon  and 
Mejia.  The  place  was  freighted  with  tragic  memories; 
but  the  quiet  beauty  of  the  scene  and  the  contented  hum 
of  voices  (the  hill  was  covered  with  people)  made  wars 
and  unhappiness  seem  dim  and  far-ofif. 

Slowly  the  sun  dropped  back  of  the  mountain,  and  then 
came  the  ethereal  blue  twilight  over  the  city.  The  peo- 
ple were  going  home  and  we  soon  found  ourselves  quite 
alone  save  for  one  Indian,  who  remained  motionless, 
looking  intently  across  the  valley,  while  a  pet  kid,  that 
evidently  belonged  to  him,  went  frisking  about,  like  a 
dog,  among  the  rocks.  There  is  a  strange  interest  at- 
tached to  these  dark-hued  sons  of  the  soil  that  I  can 
never  resist.  What  was  he  brooding  over?  we  won- 
dered. At  last  we  asked  him  about  his  goat.  It  was 
very  gentle,  he  said;  just  like  a  little  dog;  it  followed 
him  everywhere.  He  and  his  pet  were  born  on  the 
same  hacienda,  but  now  they  had  left  their  old  home 
and  come  to  work  near  the  city,  gathering  hay  for  the 
senores  of  Queretaro.  Hours  were  too  long  on  the 
hacienda  —  often  from  two  in  the  morning  till  eight  at 


The  road  to  the  hot  country 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         173 

night  and  only  18  cents  a  day.  Now  he  had  his  little 
house,  with  his  wife  and  one  nino  (baby)  and  his  goat; 
he  sometimes  earned  fifty  cents  a  day,  "  and,"  he  added, 
"  one  can  rest  a  little."  At  present  he  and  the  goat  were 
out  for  a  walk.  He  had  a  bright  face  and  seemed  to 
enjoy  telling  his  little  history.  As  we  said,  "  hasta 
luego,"  we  asked  him  casually  regarding  the  chapel. 
It  was  for  three  generals  he  said,  who  were  killed  at  the 
siege.  One  was  Miramon,  the  other  Mejia,  and  the 
other  —  quien  sabe,  he  was  a  foreign  general  who  came 
"  walking  "  in  the  revolution.  We  pressed  him  in  vain 
for  the  name.  No,  he  could  not  remember.  "  He  was 
a  stranger  —  who  knows  his  name  ?  "  "  But,"  he  added 
solemnly,  "  when  they  were  shot,  the  country  remained 
at  peace."  Then  he  said,  "  May  you  go  well ! "  and 
with  a  bound  was  off  in  the  darkness  followed  by  the 
goat. 

After  a  pleasant  week  spent  in  seeing  Queretaro  I  took 
leave  of  my  new  friends  and  went  on  to  Irapuato,  where 
I  changed  cars  for  Guadalajara  which  I  reached  in  the 
early  evening.  Guadalajara  is  simpatica.  What  a  de- 
lightful word  that  is !  It  expresses  much  in  little  as  no 
other  word  can.  It  is  essentially  Latin.  We  northern 
peoples  think  it  but  seldom  say  it.  In  fact  we  have  n't 
just  the  right  word  for  it.  We  say  a  city  is  beautiful 
but  that  does  n't  mean  the  same ;  a  climate  is  delightful 
but  that  is  n't  it ;  a  person  charming,  fascinating,  mag- 
netic, and  even  then  we  have  n't  said  the  equivalent  of 
simpatica.  To  my  mind  the  nearest  thing  to  it  in  Eng- 
lish is,  "  I  like."  In  Mexico  if  we  like  a  place  and  its 
people  we  say  they  are  simpaticos  and  that  tells  the  story. 
I  had  always  heard  this  of  Guadalajara.  At  the  last, 
some  of  my  friends  in  Mexico,  whose  homes  are  there, 
began  to  caution  me.     "  Don't  expect  too  much,"  they 


174         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

said,  "  you  may  be  disappointed."  But  I  had  a  feeling 
I  should  not  be  disappointed.  Do  we  find  what  we  look 
for  I  wonder !  Not  always !  But  the  chances  are 
largely  in  our  favor.  If  we  look  on  things  in  a  friendly 
way  we  get  the  "  glad  eye  "  in  return ;  but  a  supercilious 
stare  is  apt  to  encounter  el  ojo  de  vidrio   (glassy  eye). 

The  first  thing  that  impressed  me  was  a  homelike 
feeling.  I  was  not  unprepared  for  this  for  my  friends 
had  said,  "  You  will  see  when  you  are  there  —  the 
zagumi  doors  open  till  late  at  night,  the  patios  filled  with 
flowers  and  electric  light,  the  sehoritas  promenading  in 
the  plaza  and  much  music  everywhere."  It  was  just  as 
they  said.  The  air,  though  rather  warmer  than  in  Mex- 
ico, was  fresh  and  pure.  It  had  rained  in  the  night  and 
the  day  was  like  a  northern  day  after  a  shower. 

The  Plaza  de  Armas  is  very  like  that  of  IMexico  in 
its  surroundings.  At  the  north  is  the  Cathedral  with 
its  pointed,  oriental-looking  towers ;  the  Governor's 
Palace,  a  beautiful  edifice,  is  on  the  east,  and  at  the  south 
and  west  are  portalcs  as  in  Mexico.  The  garden  is 
crowded  with  palms  and  flowering  shrubs  and  the  walks 
and  benches  are  shaded  by  orange  trees  heavy  with  fruit. 
On  Sunday  morning  a  fine  military  band  was  playing 
and  the  seats  were  comfortably  filled.  With  the  flower- 
scented  air  and  the  golden  fruit  overhead  I  found  myself 
quite  astray  as  to  the  time  of  year.  I  could  not  get 
used  to  summer  atmosphere  when  it  should  be  fall. 
While  October  and  November  are  delightful  months  in 
the  north,  they  are  always  attended  by  the  realization 
that  their  beauty  is  not  for  long:  the  decay  of  the  year 
is  always  sad,  and  while  the  spring  awakening  more 
than  atones,  we  know  there  is  another  autumn  coming. 
The  feeling  that  Mexico's  delightful  weather  is  going 
on  and  on  gets  us  into  easy  ways  perhajis,  but  I  like  it. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         175 

I  looked  in  vain  for  the  promenaders  on  the  plaza 
Sunday  morning.  Then  I  went  and  explored  the  por- 
tales.  The  west  portales  were  thronged  with  Guadala- 
jara's fair  ones,  while  all  along  against  the  store-fronts, 
were  rows  of  chairs  where  people  sat  laughing  and  talk- 
ing. Such  lovely  faces,  glorious  eyes  and  dainty  cos- 
tumes as  I  saw  under  the  west  portales ! 

Guadalajara  is  more  of  an  evening  city  than  any  I 
had  yet  seen ;  that  is  there  is  more  out-of-door  evening 
life.  The  nights  are  warm  and  windows  are  left  wide 
open.  You  hear  the  chatter  of  voices,  the  music  of 
guitar  or  piano  and  catch  glimpses  of  richly  furnished 
rooms  in  passing.  There  is  music  on  the  plaza  four 
nights  in  the  week  and  it  seems  a  general  breathing  spot 
for  the  people.  The  class  line  does  not  seem  quite  so 
strictly  drawn  there  and  all  grades  meet  on  the  plaza. 
The  young  peon  in  a  zarape  holds  the  blue-rebozo-girl's 
hand  in  the  shade  of  the  banana  palm;  the  more  settled 
ones  smoke  calmly  on  the  benches;  ladies  promenade 
bareheaded,  arm  in  arm,  and  the  babies  romp  about, 
with  ayas  at  their  heels.  One  evening  it  was  growing 
dark  when  a  small  fairy  in  white,  with  a  cloud  of  dark 
hair  and  big  black  eyes,  detached  herself  from  a  flying 
band  of  companion  fairies  and  did  me  the  honor  to 
alight  beside  me ;  that  is  she  sat  down  on  the  same  bench 
and  began  swinging  her  feet.  Finding  myself  tete-a-tete 
with  so  lovely  and  extremely  young  a  seiiorita  I  thought 
I  might  venture  to  speak  to  her.  She  was  tired  of  play- 
ing, she  informed  me,  and  had  left  her  friends  to  rest  a 
moment.  Oh,  no,  they  were  not  stronger  than  she,  a 
little  larger  that  was  all.  I  expected  every  moment  to 
see  a  dark  guardian  in  black  shawl  and  white  apron 
swoop  down  upon  her,  but  nothing  happened ;  and  she 
sat  and  trilled  her  baby  Castilian  at  me  till   suddenly 


176         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

that  flying  band  appeared  again.  Then  with  a  cunning 
little  bow  and  a  sweet  "  con  permiso  "  ("  with  your  per- 
mission ")  she  flew  away. 

While  these  children  were  frolicking  after  dusk  on  the 
plaza  the  outer  walk  was  crowded  with  Indians,  listening 
to  the  music.  It  is  enough  to  make  one  like  the  Indians 
to  see  how  unreservedly  children  can  be  trusted  among 
them.  The  peon  class  impresses  one  as  distinctly 
superior.  The  people  are  cleanly  and  intelligent  and 
there  seems  to  be  little  drunkenness.  Is  this  the  reason 
they  are  allowed  more  privileges  or  is  it  a  result?  A 
certain  recognition  by  their  betters  must  certainly  make 
the  serving-classes  more  self-respecting.  Another  trib- 
ute to  their  good  behavior  are  the  few  gendarmes.  I 
missed  the  lanterns  of  the  gendarmes  at  every  crossing 
that  we  are  used  to  in  Mexico  City. 

Guadalajara  is  an  easy  city  to  go  about  in.  The 
streets  are  continuous  instead  of  broken,  as  in  Mexico 
City,  with  a  dift'erent  name  for  every  square.  The 
names  of  Mexico's  streets  are  trying.  When  I  have  once 
left  the  Zocalo,  I  never  know  whether  I  am  on  Plateros 
or  San  Francisco :  nor  when  Avcnida  Juarez  ends  and 
Patoni  begins.  Guadalajara  is  clean.  Its  great  market 
always  has  the  appearance  of  having  been  swept  and 
tended.  There  seemed  a  scarceness  of  flowers,  or  per- 
haps I  visited  the  market  on  an  off  day.  The  display  of 
vegetables  and  fruits  was  fine.  Cainotcs,  the  Mexican 
sweet  potatoes,  are  abundant  in  these  parts,  but  their 
Irish  cousins  are  small  as  everywhere  in  Mexico. 

The  population  of  Guadalajara  is  somewhat  over  one 
hundred  and  twenty  thousand.  The  altitude  is  about  six 
thousand  feet.  Among  public  works  nearing  comple- 
tion were  new  waterworks  and  modern  city  drainage. 
The  waters  of  the  Rio  Grande  were  bcinir  utilized  to  the 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  177 

end  of  supplying  from  four  to  five  thousand  horse-power 
in  electricity.  The  canal  for  this  work  was  already  fin- 
ished and  I  was  told  that  in  less  than  five  years  the  city 
would  have  more  than  ten  thousand  horse-power  in 
electricity,  at  a  cost  of  from  one-third  to  one-fourth  of 
the  present  cost  of  steam.  Guadalajara's  greatest  im- 
provement, however,  is  the  new  railroad  connecting  this 
city  with  the  Pacific  port  of  Manzanillo,  making  Gua- 
dalajara the  second  city  in  commercial  importance  in  the 
republic. 

Guadalajara  oranges  are  famed  for  their  delicious 
flavor.  And  here  may  be  tasted  in  its  perfection  the 
noted  vino  de  Tequila,  a  pleasant  but  heady  beverage, 
which  is  made  principally  near  the  town  of  Tequila,  a 
day's  journey  from  Guadalajara.  One  large  hacienda 
produces  from  fifty  to  a  hundred  barrels  of  tequila  a 
day  for  export  to  Central  and  South  America. 

The  great  charm  of  the  country  is  its  unending  variety. 
The  cities  and  their  peoples  retain  their  individuality 
to  a  surprising  degree.  In  each  place  you  encounter 
ways  and  customs  quite  different  from  any  you  have 
seen,  and  in  each  you  hear  of  other  places  where  the 
customs  are  still  different.  You  naturally  desire  to  visit 
these  as  well  and  there  seems  no  end  to  the  interest  of 
traveling.  In  going  from  the  capital  to  Guadalajara, 
you  will  notice  a  marked  contrast  in  the  customs  of  the 
two  cities ;  but  it  takes  time  to  appreciate  the  many  lit- 
tle differences.  These  are  largely  due  to  climate,  I 
think ;  for  instance  after  sunset,  when  the  air  in  Mexico 
City  is  rather  penetrating,  in  Guadalajara  it  is  just  fresh 
enough  to  make  one  wish  to  be  out  of  doors.  There 
was  comparatively  little  driving.  I  saw  some  stylish  turn- 
outs but  the  people  as  a  rule  seemed  to  prefer  walking. 

The  streets  are  most  attractive  in  the  evening.     The 


178         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

ladies  go  for  a  stroll  in  the  cool  of  the  day,  just  between 
daylight  and  dark,  and  yon  see  them  sauntering  about 
in  light  summer  gowns,  and  frequently  with  heads  un- 
covered. The  portales  are  a  favorite  evening  promenade. 
They  are  brilliantly  lighted,  and  there  are  always  chairs 
to  rent  if  one  cares  to  rest.  The  Sunday  evening  paseo, 
which  is  the  event  of  the  week,  might  justly  be  called, 
"  A  Dream  of  Fair  Women." 

There  was  practically  no  begging  in  the  streets  and  I 
was  forgetting  how  to  say,  "  Que  le  vaya  con  Dios ! " 
("May  you  go  with  God!")  which  a  Mexican  friend 
told  me  gratified  the  average  beggar  quite  as  much,  if  not 
more  than  centavos ;  and  which  I  found  far  less  expensive. 
You  hear  little  of  lack  of  bread  here.  Every  night  the 
street  before  the  cathedral  is  thronged  with  little 
kitchens,  doing  a  thriving  business,  and  there  is  food 
to  burn  judging  from  the  odors.  There  are  no  empehos 
or  ordinary  pawn-shops  in  Guadalajara,  there  is  only  a 
monte  de  piedad  and  two  branch  offices.  There  is  a 
respectable  air  to  these  places  that  dispels  the  romance. 
It  is  in  your  dusty,  ill-smelling,  sure  enough  pawn-shop 
on  an  out-of-the-way  street  in  Mexico  City,  where  the 
Gachupin  in  attendance  does  not  deign  to  notice  you  and 
can  with  difficulty  be  persuaded  to  name  a  price,  that  the 
thing  becomes  deeply,  intensely  interesting,  and  you  not 
infrequently  find  a  prize. 

El  Baratillo  in  Guadalajara  is  as  large  as  Mexico's, 
Plaza  Mayor.  It  is  wholly  unlike  any  other  place. 
There  are  the  usual  collections  of  old  iron,  crockery 
and  miscellaneous  junk,  and  besides  there  are  vegetable 
and  fruit  stands,  restaurants,  and  places  where  they  sell 
a  pint  of  charcoal  or  a  single  stick  of  wood.  The  latter 
is  displayed  in  little  pyramids  of  four  puny  sticks,  at 
three  cents  for  the  lot  which  I  consider  dear.     The  two 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         179 

extremes  of  city  and  country  meet  in  the  Baratillo.  You 
see  the  dingy  collector  of  old  clothes  and  scrap-iron  side 
by  side  with  the  fresh-looking  ranchero,  who  has 
tramped  since  sunrise  the  day  before,  behind  his  little 
train  of  burros  laden  with  sugar  cane,  and  come  to  sell 
his  wares  in  the  plaza.  The  former  recognized  me  at 
once  as  his  lawful  prey  and  began  producing  rusty  spurs, 
candlesticks,  and  old  jewelry.  The  latter  stared  in  open- 
eyed  wonder,  but  when  I  inquired  about  the  cana  he 
promptly  chopped  off  a  hunk  and  invited  me  to  try  it. 
It  is  quite  customary  for  all  hucksters  to  ask  you  to  prove 
their  wares  and  their  patrons  as  a  rule  seem  hard  to 
please.  The  woman  with  boiled  ca/a&fl^oj  (pumpkins)  for 
sale  is  most  obliging.  She  has  them  loaded  on  a  burro  in 
two  great  baskets  or  panniers.  When  a  customer  ap- 
pears, she  jabs  a  knife  into  one  of  the  pumpkins  and 
presents  it  for  trial.  The  customer  tastes,  smacks  her 
lips  and  shakes  her  head.  The  vendor  jabs  another 
which  does  n't  quite  suit  either  and  so  it  goes  on,  till 
one  is  found  with  just  the  right  flavor.  The  man  who 
buys  sugar  cane  gets  a  lot  for  his  money.  Fancy  six  to 
eight  feet  of  long-drawn-out  sweetness  for  five  cents. 
When  I  see  a  peon  trudging  homeward  with  one  across 
his  shoulder,  I  always  picture  Mrs.  Peon  and  all  the 
little  Pcones  seated  in  a  row  before  their  hut,  com- 
placently chewing. 

The  street  vendor's  cry  is  as  different  from  that  of 
Mexico  City  as  though  it  were  of  another  country.  You 
miss  the  monotonous  yet  musical  chant  of  the  Indian 
women  that  we  hear  in  Mexico,  especially  those  that  sell 
the  little  reed  birds  whose  name  is  something  like 
chichicuilote.  Here,  while  everything  imaginable  is 
hawked  through  the  streets,  the  vendors  are  nearly  al- 
ways men.     The  ice-cream  man  is  first  on  the  scene  and 


i8o         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

last  to  retire.  He  appears  often  at  seven  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  with  a  tall  wooden  pail  balanced  on  his  head, 
and  stopping  in  the  middle  of  the  street  roars,  "  Helados 
por  un  centavo!  "  (Ices  for  one  cent).  He  then  enumer- 
ates the  various  flavors.  His  voice  is  harsh  and  gut- 
tural, as  are  those  of  all  his  class,  and  you  hear  him  on 
his  rounds  till  late  at  night.  The  man  with  baked 
camotcs  carries  them  on  his  head  in  an  oblong  wooden 
tray ;  and  I  saw  fine  fresh  fish  from  Chapala  sold  in 
the  same  manner.  At  night,  the  tamale  men  are  out  and 
one  occasionally  hears  a  woman's  voice. 

English  is  decidedly  in  vogue.  Many  speak  it  readily 
and  you  constantly  hear,  "  All  right !  "  "  How  do  you 
do  ?  "  "  Good-by !  "  etc.  It  is  amazing  how  the  Mexi- 
cans acquire  our  language  and  employ  it  with  compara- 
tive ease,  without  leaving  their  own  country,  when  so 
many  foreigners  live  in  Mexico  for  years  and  never  get 
beyond  the  "  present  indicative  "  verbally, 

Guadalajara  is  the  home  of  the  charro  horseman,  but 
even  there  he  is  becoming  infrequent.  When  in  evidence, 
he  wears  his  attractive  costume  with  peculiar  grace,  as 
though  to  the  manner  born.  Although  many  of  the  suits 
are  richly  ornamented,  all  have  a  certain  distinctive  air 
as  though  made  for  service.  Some  are  of  brown  or  gray 
cloth,  with  nothing  to  mark  them  save  the  short  jacket 
and  tight-fitting  trousers.  The  young  men  afifect  se- 
verely plain  riding  suits  as  a  foil  for  their  richly 
mounted  saddles  and  trappings.  One  fine-looking  fel- 
low was  dressed  entirely  in  black  without  so  much  as 
a  silver  button.  His  fiery  little  Arab  w^as  coal-black. 
But  the  saddle  was  the  most  superb  thing  I  had  seen, 
with  dazzling  silver  decoration  and  heavy  box-stirrup, 
apparently  of  solid  silver.  Add  to  this  a  gorgeous,  rain- 
bow-hucd  zarape,  tightly  rolled  at  the  back  of  the  saddle. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         i8i 

and  yon  have  a  very  splendid  fignre.  Among  the  many 
picturesque  sights  of  this  picture-country,  the  charro 
horseman  shines  preeminent.  In  my  own  httle  collection 
of  the  mind's  eye,  one  of  the  choicest  bits  has  for  one 
figure  a  handsome  young  charro,  with  all  the  attendant 
bravery  the  name  suggests.  And  the  other  is  a  girl  with 
wonderful  dark  eyes,  and  a  classic  profile,  half-hidden 
in  the  folds  of  a  black  shawl. 

A  delightful  part  of  Mexico  is  the  suddenness  with 
which  fiestas  drop  down  on  you.  I  say  "  drop  down  " 
advisedly.  A  fiesta  once  dropped  down  on  me  and 
nearly  extinguished  me.  It  began  on  Friday  and  lasted 
over  until  Monday.  I  had  not  the  faintest  premonition 
that  this  fiesta  was  coming.  On  Thursday,  I  had  wasted 
all  my  substance  on  sundry  antiquities  which  a  design- 
ing person  brought  me :  idols,  swords  and  the  like. 
Friday  morning,  at  earliest  banking  hours,  I  sallied  forth 
to  put  myself  in  funds.  The  bank  was  closed  till  Mon- 
day. I  had  the  munificent  sum  of  thirty-five  cents  in 
my  pocket,  and  as  my  only  available  friend  at  that  time 
happened  to  be  one  who  had  frequently  expressed  his 
aversion  to  borrowing  and  being  borrowed  of,  I  passed 
three  awful  days.  I  determined  not  to  expend  one 
single  centavo  needlessly,  and  it  was  nothing  short  of 
tragedy  to  see  those  thirty-five  constituents  of  a  for- 
lorn hope  slowly  but  surely  fading  away.  If  you  want 
to  know  what  it  really  is  to  be  "  out  in  this  cold  world," 
try  living  three  days  on  thirty-five  cents.  You  can  get 
the  feeling  even  in  Mexico.  Of  course  I  might  have 
pawned  my  purchases,  but  it  never  occurred  to  me  I  had 
an  "  uncle  "  in  Mexico. 

A  fiesta  dropped  down  just  as  unexpectedly  while  I  was 
in  Guadalajara  but  luckily  I  had  more  than  thirty-five 
cents  in  the  pocket.     I  first  realized  the  season,  when  I 


i82         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

found  the  portales  crowded,  and  the  little  notion  stands 
converted  into  confectioners'  shops,  with  every  sort  of 
symbol  displayed  in  sugar. 

After  all,  the  distinguishing  traits  of  Mexico's  various 
cities  and  their  peoples  are  in  outward  and  really  unim- 
portant details.  The  same  unwritten  laws  govern 
society  in  all  parts  alike.  It  is  an  odd  fact  that  many 
rules  of  etiquette  in  the  neighbor-republics  are  diamet- 
rically opposite ;  and  I  believe  few  of  us,  either  Mex- 
icans or  Americans,  realize  this  until  one  visits  the 
country  of  the  other.  In  the  north  a  family  who  may  be 
newcomers  in  a  city  or  locality,  wait  to  receive  the 
visits  of  those  who  care  to  know  them.  In  Mexico, 
they  must  at  once  send  "  at  home  "  cards  to  all  whom 
they  care  to  know.  It  would  be  the  greatest  temerity, 
on  the  part  of  a  northern  man,  to  take  the  initiative  in 
saluting  a  lady,  with  whom  he  had  slight  acquaintance. 
Here  it  is  the  very  thing  he  must  do.  Nor  is  this  all. 
A  stranger  in  a  Mexican  city  must  bow  first  on  meeting 
each  and  every  gentleman  to  whom  he  has  been  pre- 
sented;  and  if  he  would  avoid  breaches  of  etiquette,  he 
must  be  literally  lynx-eyed ;  for  his  new  acquaintances 
will  make  little  or  no  sign  of  recognition.  They  regard 
him  with  their  usual  well-bred  composure ;  it  remains  for 
him  to  do  the  rest.  I  realized  all  this  once  while  stroll- 
ing with  some  acquaintances  on  a  much-frequented 
promenade.  The  place  was  crowded  and  the  light  was 
that  trying  mixture  of  twilight  and  electricity,  broken  by 
patches  of  absolute  darkness.  It  dawned  upon  me  that  I 
was  in  a  delicate  position.  People  I  had  met  but  once 
would  not  bow  to  me  first  nor  could  I  recognize  them  in 
that  light !  Ladies  especially  look  so  dift'erently  at  dif- 
ferent times,  owing  to  a  change  in  costume.  I  wondered 
which  was  worse,  to  bow  to  people  I  did  n't  know  or  to 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         183 

fail  to  bow  to  those  I  did.  The  realization  that  I  had 
perhaps  been  guilty  of  many  omissions  was  annoying, 
and  I  begged  my  companion  to  sit  down  for  a  while,  feel- 
ing that  safety  lay  in  inaction.  But  there  was  one  girl 
who  felt  sorry  for  the  gringo.  Anyway  she  bowed,  with 
a  dignified  yet  gracious  bend  of  the  head  and  that  bow 
more  than  atoned  for  all. 

One  more  episode  that  is  too  good  to  be  lost.  I  went 
into  a  shop  one  day  and  was  served  by  the  owner  in 
person,  a  comely  dame,  "  fat,  fair  and  forty."  After  a 
few  trivial  remarks  regarding  the  article  I  was  buying, 
she  proceeded  to  subject  me  to  a  rigid  and  searching 
cross-examination.  Was  I  French,  German  or  English 
and  how  long  had  I  been  in  the  country?  Had  I  come 
for  business  or  pleasure  and  when  was  I  going  home? 
Was  I  married  or  single?  Had  I  left  a  novia  (sweet- 
heart) in  ]\Iexico  City?  Ah  ha!  it  was  plain  that  I  had 
and  that  I  was  buying  a  gift  to  send  to  her !  This  I 
stoutly  denied  and  said  that  on  the  contrary  I  was  in 
search  of  a  novia,  at  the  same  time  casting  ardent  glances 
at  my  fair  inquisitor.  I  might  as  well  have  languished 
at  a  stone  image.  Her  curiosity  was  wholly  impersonal 
and  disinterested.  She  wanted  to  know  because  she 
wanted  to  know,  and  having  satisfied  herself,  she  took  my 
money  and  said,  "que  le  vaya  Vd  bien !  "  (May  you  go 
well!)  as  unfeelingly  as  though  she  had  not  just  received 
the  sacred  confidences  of  my  inmost  soul. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Visit  to  Lake  Chapala :  A  Race  for  Dinner :  A  Pleasant  Swim- 
ming Pool :  Indian  Fishermen  :  "  El  Presidio  "  :  A  Ride  on  a 
Mexican  Coach :  Trite  Truths  About  Silao :  Sights  Worth 
Seeing  in  Guanajuato:  Savage  Dogs:  A  Method  of  Warfare: 
The  Cross  on  the  Mountain :     A  Man's  a  Man  for  a'  That. 

I  REMAINED  for  nearly  a  month  in  Guadalajara, 
and  the  longer  I  stayed  the  easier  it  became  to 
stay  on.  It  is  a  city  of  infinite  charm ;  its  life  is 
modern  yet  leisurely;  its  people  are  cultured,  vivacious, 
gay  even,  as  compared  with  those  in  some  of  the  more 
conservative  cities,  yet  preserving  always  the  poise  and 
composure  that  are  national  characteristics.  My  fellow- 
boarders  in  Mexico  City  had  given  me  letters  of  intro- 
duction to  relatives  and  friends  in  Guadalajara,  and  these 
had  been  a  passport  to  a  delightful  circle.  I  was  wel- 
comed with  frank  kindness  into  the  homes  of  my  friends, 
where  in  some  instances  I  was  addressed  by  my  Christian 
name,  this  being  the  most  flattering  sign  of  favor  in  a 
Mexican  home.  I  had  long  adopted  the  mode  of  ad- 
dressing my  female  friends  by  their  Christian  names,  it 
being  the  social  custom  for  gentlemen  to  so  address  the 
ladies  of  their  acquaintance,  whether  elderly  or  young. 
But  it  was  in  Guadalajara  this  was  first  reciprocated,  and 
hearing  my  name  thus  for  the  first  time  in  many  months 
I  experienced  a  thrill  of  pleasure,  for  I  knew  it  was  a  trib- 
ute to  my  friendship  with  a  son  or  a  brother. 

A    delightful    feature   of    social    life    in    Guadalajara 
were   the  afternoons   at  the   home   and   studios   of   the 

184 


THE  AIAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO         185 

Mexican  painter,  Felix  Bernardelli,  where  women  and 
men  of  artistic,  literary  and  musical  pursuits  met  for 
music,  poetry  and  gossip.  There  were  many  pleasant 
suppers  and  musical  evenings  at  the  homes  of  friends, 
and  again  I  felt  the  elusive  yet  dominating  thrall  that  is 
Mexico's,  and  beneath  whose  sway  weeks  glide  into 
months  and  easily  into  years.  The  traveler  however  feels 
it  a  duty  to  travel ;  yet  in  leaving  Guadalajara,  I  was  dis- 
consolate. Even  now,  at  thought  of  this  lovely  city, 
the  desire  arises  to  apostrophize  her ;  yet  I  can  think 
of  nothing  that  is  worthy  save  that  name  of  praise 
and  endearment, — "  Guadalajara,  Pearl  of  the 
West !  " 

My  acquaintances  had  besought  me  not  to  leave  the 
State  of  Jalisco  without  paying  a  visit  to  Lake  Chapala, 
which  lies  on  the  boundary  adjacent  to  Michoacan,  and 
is  the  favorite  watering-place  of  all  that  region.  I  ac- 
cordingly set  out  for  Atequiza,  which  is  the  railway 
station  nearest  the  lake.  At  Atequiza,  which  is  reached 
in  an  hour,  you  have  your  choice  of  a  saddle  horse  or  a 
seat  in  the  stage.  The  owner  of  the  horses  told  me  he 
could  give  me  one  with  a  pace  like  "  the  rocking  of  a 
canoe  on  the  lake."  I  am  convinced  now  that  he  re- 
ferred to  the  lake  on  a  squally  day,  but  in  my  guilelessness 
I  thought  he  meant  when  it  was  pacific.  The  stage- 
driver  declared  that  while  he  had  to  wait  for  the  Irapuato 
train,  he  could  give  the  saddle  horse  an  hour's  start  and 
then  beat  it  into  Chapala.  This  prospect  of  a  race  de- 
cided me  in  favor  of  the  saddle  horse.  A  gaunt  looking 
cahallo  was  led  forth,  and  my  luggage  was  loaded  on  to  a 
second  with  little  black-eyed  Santiago  up  behind  as 
mozo  and  guide.  Santiago  said  he  was  eleven  years  old, 
but  he  afterwards  remembered  that  he  was  only  "  walking 
toward  nine."     He  said  one  forgets  now  and  again,  and 


i86         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

I  admitted  this  was  true  especially  when  one  has  reached 
his  mature  age.  I  told  Santiago  that  if  we  beat  the  stage 
there  was  a  real  in  it  for  him,  and  he  thereupon  informed 
me  that  there  was  a  fine  spur  in  one  of  the  saddle-bags. 
There  are  about  a  dozen  gates  to  be  opened  on  the  road 
to  Chapala,  at  the  rate  of  a  centavo  a  gate,  which  is  cheap 
as  gates  go.  They  separate  the  various  ranchos.  All 
would  have  been  well,  if  in  crossing  one  of  these  ranchos 
I  had  not  met  the  head  vaquero  (herdsman).  He  was  an 
interesting  gentleman  in  silver-trimmed,  black  trousers, 
slit  up  the  side,  high  russet  boots  and  a  magnificent  som- 
brero. He  opened  conversation  by  complimenting  my 
horse.  I  said  yes,  he  was  "  good  food  for  buzzards."  I 
then  praised  his  horse,  which  was  really  a  fine  one.  We 
were  jogging  along  conversing  when  suddenly  I  heard 
yelling  in  the  rear,  and  there  right  upon  us  was  the  stage. 
The  driver  was  bawling,  "  Andale !  "  and  the  peon  beside 
him  was  throwing  rocks  at  the  eight  little  mules,  as  they 
tore  along.  The  driver  shouted,  "  Adios  "  and  I  dug  my 
spurs  into  that  wretched  caballo  feeling  that  I  was 
beaten.  The  caballo  saw  things  in  another  light.  He 
could  loaf  so  long  as  no  one  tried  to  pass  him ;  but  the 
thought  of  taking  dust  from  eight  plebeian  mules  was 
more  than  his  proud  Arab  spirit  could  endure.  He  began 
to  forge  ahead  with  the  speed  of  a  locomotive,  and  the 
coach  was  left  far  in  the  rear  where  it  belonged.  The 
caballo  had  decided  to  let  me  see  what  he  could  do  and 
he  kept  it  up.  In  a  jiffy  we  reached  the  top  of  the  hill. 
Before  us  lay  the  lake,  with  the  mountains  beyond  and 
the  little  town  of  Chapala  lying  close  to  the  margin.  It 
made  me  think  of  Lake  Patzcuaro ;  but  you  are  beside  the 
latter  before  you  know  it,  traveling  by  rail,  while  Chapala 
you  see  from  afar  and  have  all  the  delights  of  anticipation 
in  approaching  it.     So  we  galloped   down   to  the  lake 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         187 

with  the  fresh  wind  in  our  faces,  and  I  was  on  my  way 
to  dinner  when  that  boastful  cochero  drew  up  his  eight- 
mule  team  before  the  hotel. 

That  the  manager  of  the  Hotel  Arzapalo  was  a  man  of 
taste,  I  knew  when  I  saw  the  hotel,  with  its  clambering 
rose-vines,  its  well-kept  gardens  and  the  little  pier  run- 
ning out  into  the  lake,  with  comfortable  benches  at  either 
side.  When  he  assigned  me  to  a  room,  with  a  view  of 
mountain  and  lake  combined,  I  was  doubly  sure.  The 
memories  of  my  ride,  together  with  a  bountiful  dinner, 
made  me  content  to  loaf  the  rest  of  the  afternoon;  but 
towards  evening  I  started  in  search  of  the  warm  mineral 
baths,  for  which  the  place  is  noted.  A  gentleman  who 
knows  Chapala,  had  said  to  me,  "  Don't  go  to  the  fine- 
looking  bath-house  with  the  '  Bano  '  sign  ;  follow  the  same 
street  till  you  come  to  some  old  buildings  and  then  ask 
for  the  tanqiie."  So  I  walked  by  the  fine-looking  bahos 
and  in  an  old  orange  orchard,  I  found  the  great  swimming 
tank.  It  must  be  sixty  feet  long  by  twenty  wide,  and  the 
bottom  slopes  so  that  at  one  end  it  is  over  a  man's  head. 
It  is  surrounded  by  a  high  wall  and  the  palms  and  orange 
trees  grow  close  up  to  it.  The  water  is  a  trifle  more  than 
blood-warm,  so  that  you  feel  an  almost  imperceptible  ac- 
cession of  warmth  in  stepping  into  it.  It  is  the  kind 
of  a  bath  that  you  leave  reluctantly  and  then  feel  tempted 
to  return  to.  The  springs  at  Cuautla,  Morelos,  are 
nearly  like  these  in  temperature. 

When  I  came  out  I  asked  the  dueha  to  sell  me  some 
oranges ;  and  she  sent  a  boy  to  pick  them — three  big, 
luscious  ones  for  two  cents.  An  Indian  was  launching 
his  canoe,  and  I  asked  him  to  take  me  in ;  he  ran  and  got 
a  little  rush-bottom  chair  which  he  put  in  the  stern,  and  we 
paddled  away.  There  was  the  last  flush  of  crimson  and 
purple  in  the  west  and  a  crescent  moon  overhead ;  and  I 


i88         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

could  hear  the  voices  of  the  Indian  boatmen,  as  they 
rowed  out  through  the  dusk  to  the  fishing  grounds. 

While  the  lake  is  often  perfectly  still  during  the  after- 
noon, a  breeze  comes  after  sunset  and  soon  little  waves 
are  running  up  on  the  beach.  The  moon  makes  a  silver 
track  across  the  water;  you  hear  a  soft  lapping  along 
the  shore,  and  the  scent  of  flowers  pervades  the  shaded 
balcony  of  the  hotel.  The  despondent  traveler,  who  has 
been  seeing  the  country  by  day  and  waging  fierce  wars 
by  night,  in  hotels  where  he  pays  for  a  bed  and  then  has 
to  fight  to  hold  it,  will  hail  the  Arzapalo  as  a  haven  of 
rest.  The  beds  and  bed-linen  are  spotlessly  clean  and  one 
lies  down  with  no  misgivings  as  to  the  manner  of  his 
awakening.  I  could  tell  gruesome  tales  of  nights  spent 
in  Mexican  hotels,  but  I  won't.  Perhaps  the  reader  is 
tender-hearted ;  and  for  me,  it  would  only  open  old 
wounds  anew.  The  Ar:sapaIo  has  some  fifty  rooms, 
a  large  sala  and  dining-room  overlooking  the  lake,  and  is 
provided  with  a  bar  and  billiard  table.  The  cooking  is 
excellent  and  the  bread  is  all  made  in  the  house.  The 
hotel  is  situated  in  what  is,  beyond  doubt,  one  of  the 
loveliest  and  most  healthful  spots  in  all  Mexico.  Good 
hotels  are  a  crying  want  in  the  republic,  and  when  I  en- 
counter one  I  sing  its  praises. 

Circumstances  over  which  I  had  no  control  forced  me 
to  leave  Chapala.  My  trunk  ran  amuck.  I  found  it  at 
Silao,  but  I  lost  —  Chapala.  I  left  it  when  my  love  was  at 
its  height.  It  was  morning  on  the  lake.  The  mists  were 
hanging  on  the  mountain  tops,  the  breeze  was  ruffling  the 
surface  of  the  water,  and  the  palms  and  orange  trees 
shone  emerald-green  in  the  sunlight.  I  rode  on  top  of  the 
coach  and  as  we  approached  the  summit  of  the  divide, 
we  could  see  a  good  part  of  the  length  of  the  lake,  some 
thirty  leagues  in  all.     There  was  the  little  island  called 


TPIE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO  189 

"  El  Presidio  "  where  the  last  of  the  Chapaltecos,  about 
fifty  warriors,  made  their  final  stand  against  two  thousand 
Spanish  troops ;  and  were  only  dislodged  by  bullets  and 
starvation.  There  is  a  plan  on  foot  in  Jalisco,  to  erect  a 
suitable  monument  on  the  island  in  honor  of  these  heroic 
men,  who  fought  to  the  end  for  the  freedom  of  their  peo- 
ple. I  was  not  familiar  with  this  tragic  episode  and  the 
gentleman  beside  me  told  it  dramatically.  I  looked  again 
and  again  at  the  little  island,  trying  to  fancy  the  scene 
during  the  siege.  Just  then  we  reached  the  summit. 
There  w^as  a  last  glimpse  of  a  great  stretch  of  shining 
water,  and  the  next  minute  we  had  crossed  and  were 
bowling  down  the  other  side  to  Atequiza. 

If  you  have  never  ridden  on  a  Mexican  coach,  you 
have  still  a  new  sensation  in  store.  The  Chapala  coach 
has  a  cushion  on  top  and  if  you  are  fortunate  in  sharing 
this  seat,  you  ride  muy  a  gusto,  seeing  the  country  and 
the  manner  of  manipulating  an  eight-mule-team  at  the 
same  time.  There  are  two  about  the  size  of  rabbits  on  the 
lead,  a  string  of  four  in  the  middle,  and  two  larger  ones 
on  the  wheel.  The  driver  has  a  whip,  with  a  lash  long 
enough  to  reach  the  leaders.  His  assistant  has  another 
shorter  one,  but  his  chief  persuaders  are  rocks.  The 
assistant  earns  fifty  cents  a  day  and  free  insurance  against 
dyspepsia.  He  alights  at  the  base  of  every  hill  and  fills 
his  sombrero  full  of  rocks  on  the  way  up.  He  then  shies 
several  boulders  big  enough  to  dislocate  a  hip  at  the 
leaders ;  and  when  the  whole  team  are  in  full  gallop,  he 
swings  himself  on  to  the  box  in  some  miraculous  way  —  I 
think  he  stands  on  the  hub.  He  could  never  do  it  if 
he  wore  shoes.  When  they  change  mules,  he  leads  the 
discarded  team  up  and  down  to  cool  them  ofif;  while  the 
driver  takes  the  new  ones  and  tangles  them  up,  so  you 
can't   tell   where   wheelers   end   and   leaders   begin.     At 


I90         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

last  they  are  off  again  with  a  whoop  and  a  yell.  People 
talk  of  Mexico  as  slow,  but  the  word  can  never  be  ap- 
plied either  to  stage  coaches  or  street  cars,  when  they 
once  get  started. 

Some  American  friends  had  written  me  from  Guana- 
juato, advising  me  to  spend  a  day  in  Silao.  They  said 
I  would  not  regret  it,  and  I  decided  reluctantly  to  act  on 
the  suggestion.  Somehow  Silao  never  sounded  interesting 
and  my  one  impression  has  always  centered  around  a 
very  good  supper  that  I  had  with  the  Howards  when  we 
separated  there,  they  going  to  Guanajuato,  which  they 
always  declared  the  most  picturesque  place  in  the  republic. 
When  we  reached  Silao,  whom  should  I  find  on  the 
Guanajuato  train  but  the  very  people  who 'had  advised 
a  day  in  Silao,  "  Hurry  up ! "  they  said,  "  get  your 
luggage  and  come  right  along  with  us !  " 

"  But  what  about  Silao?" 

"  Oh,  never  mind,  we'll  tell  you  about  Silao !  "  they 
answered. 

What  is  sight-seeing  compared  with  good-fellowship? 
Inside  of  five  minutes,  with  the  assistance  of  friends  and 
cargadores  I  was  loaded  bag  and  baggage  on  the  train  for 
Guanajuato. 

I  made  the  following  record  in  my  notebook: — 
"  Silao  is  where  you  leave  the  Mexican  Central  for 
Guanajuato  and  get  good  things  to  eat  at  the  station. 

"  The  officials  there  are  obliging  and  the  baggage-mas- 
ter does  all  in  his  power  to  assist  tourists  who  are  trying 
to  do  impossible  things  in  the  way  of  train-connections. 

"  Silao  is  reputed  to  have  the  best  climate  in  the  repub- 
lic ;  and  there  are  hot  mineral  baths,  some  ten  miles 
from  the  station,  which  are  unexcelled  for  rheumatism. 

"  Among  the  industries,  is  the  manufacture  of  thread 
for  rebozos. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         193 

"  The  elevation  is  6,000  feet.  Population  about 
15,000.  " 

It  takes  an  hour  to  reach  Guanajuato,  first  in  the  Httle 
train  and  then  in  the  street  car.  When  we  arrived  a 
band  was  playing  on  the  plaza  and  the  square  looked 
bright  and  animated,  with  the  seiiores  promenading  in 
the  little  park  and  the  peones  in  the  middle  of  the  street. 
We  had  supper  in  a  restaurant,  where  we  were  served  by 
a  waiter  who  moved  faster  than  any  mozo  I  have  ever 
seen  in  Mexico.  My  friend  told  me  he  acquired  this 
habit  of  velocity  in  the  ring  at  the  Sunday  gallos 
(cock-fights).  When  I  went  to  my  room,  there  was  a- 
girl  standing  in  the  balcony  of  the  house  opposite.  She 
looked  very  interesting  in  the  moonlight  as  she  talked 
across  the  narrow  street  to  some  one  in  the  hotel, 
evidently  a  suitor. 

The  following  afternoon  my  friends  invited  me  to  ac- 
company them  to  their  hacienda,  which  was  in  the  moun- 
tains, southeast  of  the  city.  The  views  from  the  summit 
were  superb,  with  the  city  lying  at  the  bottom  of  the 
valley,  and  the  haciendas  and  churches  of  Valenciana  and 
Los  Reyes  away  off  on  the  mountain  side,  and  just  a 
glimpse  of  La  Luz  which  lies  beyond  the  summit.  The 
trails  are  wide  enough  for  two  horses  to  go  abreast,  and 
their  stone  pavements,  demolished  in  places,  tell  the 
story  of  an  old  and  immensely  wealthy  mining  section, 
where  thousands  of  mules  were  constantly  coming  and 
going,  laden  with  provisions  and  treasure.  Like  all 
mountain  trails,  these  are  marked  at  intervals  by  crosses. 
At  one  point,  in  a  terrible  fight  between  two  peones,  the 
head  of  one  was  completely  severed  by  a  machete,  and 
rolled  into  the  canon  below.  The  cross  was  erected  at  the 
spot  where  the  body  was  found.  Not  long  ago  a  burro, 
laden  with  water  jars,  went  over  a  cliff,  something  like 


194         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

three  hundred  feet  high,  and  escaped  with  the  loss  of  two 
front  teeth  and  his  cargo.  On  the  summit  are  two  im- 
mense balance-rocks,  side  by  side,  known  as  "  the  coma- 
dres."  It  seems  two  Indian  comadres  quarreled  there 
once  upon  a  time,  and  were  turned  into  stone.  They 
stand  to  this  day,  a  warning  to  all  passers-by  to  keep  their 
temper,  at  least  till  they  get  over  the  ridge.  At  sunset 
we  met  the  Indians,  men  and  women,  tramping  over  the 
mountains  to  their  homes  in  Guanajuato,  They  work  in 
the  mines  and  the  women  earn  from  four  to  five  reales  a 
day,  breaking  and  sorting  the  ore. 

I  have  visited  many  mining  haciendas  in  INIexico.  At 
some  there  are  women-folk  and  at  others  not.  In  the 
living  rooms  of  the  latter  you  see  a  pile  of  boots  in  one 
corner,  a  tangle  of  coats  and  overalls  in  another,  and 
smaller  articles  of  wearing  apparel  strewn  broadcast. 
Everything  is  hung  up  on  the  floor.  Now  in  the  first 
named,  it  is  quite  a  different  matter.  There  are  rows  of 
nails,  with  the  clothing  hung  up  in  order ;  and  there  are 
cabinets,  made  of  empty  candle-boxes  nailed  on  the  wall, 
and  pictures  and  photographs.  The  hacienda  I  visited 
was  of  this  kind.  I  slept  in  a  cozy  little  room  and  there 
were  curtains  at  the  windows,  a  box-washstand  with 
water-bottle  and  glass,  and  a  fur  rug.  The  moral  for 
mining  men  is  obvious. 

When  we  started  for  Guanajuato  the  next  morning  it 
was  crisp  and  cool.  The  men  and  women  were  already 
well  up  the  mountain,  on  their  way  to  the  mines.  They 
must  have  started  before  sunrise.  Our  horses  were  in 
high  spirits  and  we  had  to  curb  them  from  racing  down 
the  steep  trail.  On  arriving  I  took  leave  of  my  friends, 
and  set  out  to  explore  Guanajuato,  which  I  long  had 
wished  to  know. 

Of  all  the  quaint,  picturesque  old  cities  I  have  seen  in 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         195 

the  republic,  Guanajuato  is  the  quaintest  and  most  pic- 
turesque. It  is  built  in  a  winding  caiion  and  it  not  only 
occupies  the  bottom,  but  climbs  up  the  sides  and  spreads 
over  the  foothills.  At  the  sides  the  hills  rise  so  abruptly, 
that  the  summit,  which  is  higher  than  the  church  towers, 
seems  almost  within  a  stone's  throw.  When  the  first 
charm  of  the  place  has  worn  off,  there  is  a  shut-in  feel- 
ing and  one  longs  for  the  sight  of  a  distant  horizon. 
To  say  the  streets  are  narrow  does  n't  express  it.  If 
you  start  from  your  hotel  for  the  post-office,  your  course 
is  a  veritable  zigzag:  perhaps  you  find  the  post  or  per- 
haps you  bring  up  again  in  front  of  the  hotel,  in  which 
case  you  have  only  to  try  it  over.  The  third  time  seldom 
fails.  Wherever  you  go  there  is  always  the  feeling  that 
you  are  in  a  maze,  and  the  same  uncertainty  as  to  where 
you  are  coming  out.  The  streets  are  well-paved  but  very 
narrow  and  some  of  the  sidewalks  will  not  allow  two 
abreast. 

There  are  several  trails  leading  into  the  mountains, 
and  innumerable  footpaths  like  stairs,  cut  in  the  solid 
rock.  I  followed  a  street  crossing  the  city  and  found 
myself  up  against  the  steep  side  of  the  canon,  with  noth- 
ing to  do  but  climb  for  it.  The  stairs  terminated  in  a 
narrow  lane,  between  adobe  walls  and  cactus  hedges, 
which  ended  on  the  ridge.  The  lane  was  full  of  wolfish- 
looking  dogs  which  darted  out  at  unexpected  places  with 
teeth  and  hair  bristling  alike ;  but  I  have  learned  a  thing 
or  two  about  Mexican  dogs.  You  have  only  to  stoop 
as  though  picking  up  a  rock  and  the  most  savage  will 
turn  tail  or  at  least  keep  at  a  safe  distance.  A  small 
Indian  boy  once  put  me  up  to  this  dodge.  I  was  passing 
a  rancho  on  horseback  when  a  gaunt  hound  sprang  out 
and  attacked  me  like  a  fury :  I  think  she  had  puppies. 
I  did  n't  want  to  shoot  her,  for  more  reasons  than  one, 


196         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

so  I  took  to  flight  but  the  brute  kept  up  with  me  and 
I  expected  every  second  to  feel  her  fangs  in  the  calf  of 
my  leg.  I  finally  left  her  behind  and  farther  on  en- 
countered a  little  peon  boy  jogging  along  peacefully  on 
his  burro,  his  plump,  bare  legs  offering  an  apparently 
tempting  morsel.  They  were  quite  intact  however,  and 
I  asked  him  how  he  managed  it.  "  I  got  down  and 
grabbed  a  rock,"  he  replied. 

One  afternoon  about  three  o'clock,  I  set  out  for  the 
white  cross  which  tops  the  highest  peak  back  of  the  city. 
It  looked  an  hour's  climb  at  most.  At  sunset  I  was  so 
far  above  the  town  it  looked  like  a  toy  village  lying  at  the 
bottom  of  the  canon,  but  the  cross  was  still  a  long  way 
off.  I  did  n't  care  to  make  the  descent  in  the  dark  so 
I  gave  it  up,  consoling  myself  with  that  beguiling  word 
"  manana."  This  becomes  quite  easy  after  you  have 
lived  in  the  country  a  while.  As  I  returned,  I  saw  be- 
low me  on  the  trail  what  I  took  for  a  scarecrow  in  peones' 
clothing  with  a  large  white  cloth  attached  and  fluttering 
in  the  wind.  I  watched  it  a  long  time  but  it  remained 
motionless ;  and  I  was  surprised  on  coming  near  to  find  it 
was  a  live  peon  who  had  washed  his  handkerchief  and 
was  holding  it  in  the  wind  to  dry.  How  these  people 
can  keep  so  still  is  a  mystery  but  they  seem  to  find  it 
easy  enough.  Morning  or  night  is  the  same  to  them. 
How  easy  it  is  for  a  peon  to  get  up  in  the  morning!  He 
picks  up  his  bed  which  consists  of  a  red  blanket,  swings 
it  lightly  about  him,  leans  up  against  a  wall,  lights  a 
cigarro  and  gazes  complacently  at  the  busy  world. 

Guanajuato's  population  is  rated  at  from  forty  to  fifty 
thousand.  Its  elevation  is  6,800  feet.  At  the  upper  end 
of  the  city  there  are  some  beautiful  residences  and  the 
city  park  adjoining  la  Presa  is  one  of  the  best  I  have 
seen.     The  fine  building-stone  is  quarried  just  back  of 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         197 

the  city  and  is  charming  in  color.  Three  shades  were 
employed  in  the  fagade  of  the  Juarez  theater  —  gray,  rose 
and  a  delicate  green.  In  combination  with  the  bronze 
ornament  and  figures,  the  effect  is  very  pleasing.  I  was 
prepared  to  be  disappointed  in  the  theater  but  it  is  a 
superb  edifice  and  its  lines  are  restful  to  the  eye.  I 
never  tire  of  looking  at  the  exterior.  Within  all  is  pro- 
fusion and  lavishness  of  decoration.  Every  inch  of  wall 
space  and  ceiling  is  covered  with  raised  ornament, 
Oriental  in  design  and  gorgeous  in  color.  When  the  crim- 
son velvet  hangings,  with  their  elaborate  gold  em- 
broideries are  in  place,  the  effect  is  magnificent.  The  im- 
mense stage  is  provided  with  complete  sets  of  every  sort 
of  scenery :  there  are  winter  and  summer  scenes,  groves, 
lakes  and  Louis  sei::e  drawing-rooms.  So  well  planned 
is  the  theater  that  street  cars,  laden  with  the  company's 
trunks,  etc.,  drive  directly  beneath  the  stage  before  un- 
loading. The  large  foyer  or,  better,  the  drawing-room, 
is  decorated  in  crimson,  with  a  plain  red  carpet,  red 
velvet  hangings  and  furniture  done  in  the  same  material, 
embroidered  in  real  gold  and  with  a  heavy  gold-bullion 
fringe.  The  appointments  of  this  room  alone  are  said  to 
have  cost  thirty  thousand  dollars.  The  entire  cost  of  the 
theater  is  reckoned  at  between  seven  and  eight  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  Considering  its  splendid  construction, 
its  wealth  of  ornament  without  and  within,  costly 
bronzes  and  marbles  and  elaborate  furnishings,  these  fig- 
ures do  not  seem  unreasonable.  I  doubt  if  any  city  in 
the  world  can  boast  a  more  luxurious  art  temple  than  el 
Teatro  Juarez. 

An  unfortunate  contrast  to  the  many  attractive  fea- 
tures of  Guanajuato  are  the  revolting  spectacles  pre- 
sented by  street  beggars,  who  greet  you  at  every  turn. 
You  are  conscious,  while  admiring  the  theater  perhaps, 


198         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

of  some  crawling  object  beside  you,  and  there  is  a  loathe- 
some  creature,  minus  a  hand,  a  leg  or  a  foot,  or  possibly 
minus  all  three.  The  gulf  separating  this  wretch  from 
the  opulence  on  every  hand  is  appalling ;  and  as  I  had 
come  directly  from  Guadalajara,  where  such  sights  are 
not  in  evidence,  I  noticed  it  the  more.  How  the  Mex- 
icans, who  are  naturally  a  kindly  people,  and  above  all 
lovers  of  the  beautiful,  can  endure  such  horrors  in  their 
streets  is  a  mystery.  The  conditions  and  customs  that 
have  led  up  to  their  apparent  apathy  are,  perhaps,  too 
numerous  for  a  stranger  to  understand ;  but  I  hope  it 
will  not  be  many  years  before  the  people  themselves  will 
realize  what  a  detraction  it  is  from  the  beauty  of  their 
country,  and  provide  a  remedy. 

Guanajuato  impresses  one  as  a  busy  place.  All  day 
you  hear  the  clattering  of  the  mule  pack-trains  over  the 
stone  pavements  and  every  mule  carries  two  sacks  of  ore. 
The  sacks  are  usually  of  hide  and  look  very  durable. 
The  trains  are  attended  by  more  peones  than  I  ever  saw 
before ;  in  fact  there  is  one  to  every  five  mules,  with  a 
head  man  on  horseback  bringing  up  the  rear. 

Another  extensive  traffic  is  that  of  the  water-carriers. 
Nearly  all  the  drinking  water  is  brought  from  springs  in 
the  mountains.  At  any  hour  of  the  day  you  meet  the 
water  men  driving  their  burros  loaded  with  large  earthen 
jars  of  water.  The  price  is  three  cents  a  jar.  Peones 
also  peddle  drinking  water  a1x)ut  the  city,  carrying  it  in 
a  sort  of  huge  bottle  made  of  clay.  This  is  suspended 
from  the  head  strap,  and  to  fill  a  vessel,  the  vender 
merely  ducks  his  head,  and  directs  the  stream  with  won- 
derful precision. 

There  are  plenty  of  tequila  saloons  in  the  town  and 
one  that  appears  to  be  quite  poi)ular  is  at  the  corner  of 
the  cemetery  wall  of  "  La  Compania,"  under  the  very 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  AIEXICO         199 

drippings  of  the  sanctuary.  The  church  is  a  massive  old 
pile,  always  interesting  but  especially  so  at  dusk,  when 
the  cedar  trees  loom,  black  as  ink,  at  either  side  of  the 
path,  and  the  blackbirds,  from  all  the  country  round,  take 
up  their  lodging  there  for  the  night.  Such  a  chattering 
and  fluttering  about  as  they  settle  themselves  to  their 
complete  satisfaction !  I  went  back  again,  when  the 
moon  was  shining,  and  imagined  the  cedars  looked  blacker 
than  ever  for  their  legion  of  little  night  visitors.  The 
streets  were  deserted  and  all  was  perfectly  still ;  but  sud- 
denly some  rude  bird  jostled  his  neighbor  who  told  him 
to  keep  quiet.  He  replied  that  he  guessed  he  had  a  right 
to  shift  from  one  foot  to  the  other  if  he  wanted  to  and 
the  result  was  a  squabble.  A  mischievous  young  bird  in 
one  of  the  top  boughs  yelled,  "  Come  off  the  roost !  " 
This  roused  the  entire  flock  and  in  a  minute  they  were 
all  at  it,  chattering  at  the  top  of  their  lungs.  It  was 
funny  to  hear  the  racket  gradually  die  away,  as  one  by 
one  they  dropped  off  to  sleep  again,  till  at  last  all  were 
still,  save  for  two  old  lady  birds  who  cheeped  to  each 
other  in  subdued  tones,  that  the  way  some  blackbirds 
carried  on  was  a  scandal  and  nothing  less. 

La  Presa,  the  great  dam  of  Guanajuato,  impressed  me 
as  a  stupendous  achievement  in  the  way  of  construction, 
and  one  that  is  proof  against  any  and  all  emergencies. 
A  former  one  gave  way  and  many  persons  were  drowned 
in  the  flood  that  resulted. 

A  place  that  I  visited  with  more  interest,  was  the  his- 
toric Palacio  de  las  Granaditas,  which  was  once  the  store- 
house for  all  the  grains  purchased  by  the  crown.  When 
Hidalgo  marched  from  Dolores  to  Guanajuato,  with  his 
band  of  insurgents,  the  royalists  took  refuge  with  their 
families  in  this  palace.  It  was  stormed  and  taken  by 
the  revolutionists  and  history  says  the  place  ran  rivers 


200         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

of  blood.  When  Hidalgo  was  finally  made  a  prisoner  at 
Chihuahua,  and  executed  in  company  with  his  leaders, 
Allende  and  Jimenez,  the  heads  were  severed  from  the 
bodies  and  brought  to  Guanajuato,  where  they  were  sus- 
pended from  the  corners  of  the  palace.  The  nails 
are  still  there  and  beneath  them  are  tablets  bearing  the 
names  of  these  heroes  of  independence.  A  plate  near  the 
entrance  records  the  entrance  of  the  revolutionary  anny 
and  the  capture  of  the  palace  on  September  28,  1810: 
and  another  states  that  the  edifice  was  begun  in  1788  and 
completed  in  1808  at  a  cost  of  $207,086.28.  This  minute- 
ness as  to  detail  indicates  a  remarkable  accuracy  on  the 
part  of  governmental  bookkeepers,  during  the  time  of 
construction. 

On  my  last  night  in  Guanajuato  there  was  a  special 
service  in  the  great  church  of  La  Parroquia,  and  the 
place  was  ablaze  with  light  and  crowded  to  the  doors. 
There  was  a  fine  orchestra  and  a  good  tenor  voice  and 
I  stood  outside  a  long  time  listening.  The  night  was 
as  bright  as  day  and  the  people  were  flocking  from  all 
sides,  to  kneel  and  cross  themselves  before  the  entrance 
even  if  they  could  not  find  room  inside.  Among  them 
I  noticed  an  Indian,  evidently  a  peon  from  the  mines,  in 
his  scant  cotton  clothing  and  a  ragged  white  zarape, 
which  contrasted  sharply  with  his  dark  and  very  re- 
markable face.  He  had  the  head  of  an  artist,  and  his 
long,  coal-black  hair,  not  coarse  like  the  average  In- 
dian's, but  fine  as  a  European's,  heightened  the  effect. 
His  finely  chiseled  features  were  rather  Grecian  than 
otherwise,  and  his  face,  as  he  stood  gazing  into  the  church, 
had  that  singularly  unimpassioned  look  —  shall  I  call  it 
pure?  that  we  see  in  ascetics  and  sometimes  in  men  who 
work  hard  and  live  frugally.  At  last  he  fell  on  his  knees, 
crossed  himself  with  lightning  rapidity,  and  then  rising 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         201 

and  muffling  his  chin  in  his  zarapc  went  and  leaned 
against  the  churchyard  wall. 

I  was  curious  to  know  what  the  fiesta  was  and  be- 
sides I  wanted  to  talk  with  him,  so  I  went  up  and  spoke 
to  him.  In  an  instant  his  hat  was  in  his  hand.  I  said 
"  Cubrase  Ud!  "  (Cover  yourself  !)  and  we  entered  upon 
the  natural  relations  of  a  man  who  wants  to  ask  ques- 
tions, and  another  who  is  able  and  willing  to  answer 
them.  He  said  it  was  the  fiesta  of  Maria  Santisima  of 
Guanajuato  and  that  it  lasted  nine  days,  during  which 
all  the  people  came  to  offer  thanks  for  the  kindnesses 
God  had  seen  fit  to  bestow,  and  pray  for  their  contin- 
uance. (Our  Thanksgiving  Day  precisely,  I  thought, 
only  it  comes  earlier  and  this  poor  fellow  won't  have 
either  turkey  or  mince  pie.)  He  worked  in  the  mines,  he 
said,  and  lived  with  his  madre  and  little  sisters,  provid- 
ing the  necessities  for  the  family.  No,  his  house  was 
not  very  far,  a  little  near !  making  a  comprehensive  sweep 
with  his  arm,  from  which  I  understood,  as  well  as  though 
he  had  told  me,  that  to  reach  his  house  he  must  cross  and 
go  far  down  the  other  side  of  that  high  mountain,  that 
seemed  to  touch  the  sky.  I  fancied  that,  according  to  my 
standard,  it  might  be  a  little  far,  but  he  appeared  as  un- 
concerned as  though  he  had  to  go  a  few  squares  at  most. 

The  speech  of  this  Indian  was  clear  and  rapid  and 
showed  no  mean  order  of  intelligence.  He  and  his  peo- 
ple had  talked  pure  Castellano  all  their  lives,  he  said,  but 
there  still  remained  towns  somewhat  retired  where  the 
people  spoke  their  native  dialect.  "  When  they  come 
here,  with  their  uncouth  ways,  we  stand  and  look  at 
them  and  that  is  all,"  he  added.  I  asked  him  about  his 
work  and  if  there  were  many  accidents.  He  said  men 
were  often  hurt  but  seldom  killed.  I  told  him  of  some 
of  the  things  that  happened  in  other  countries ;  but  while 


202         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

he  was  interested,  he  insisted  that  there  could  be  no 
caves  in  his  mine ;  the  ground  was  too  hard.  Indeed  this 
is  true  of  most  Mexican  mines.  Then  he  tried  to  re- 
member a  story  his  father  had  told  him  about  a  great 
mine  once  being  suddenly  flooded  and  many,  many  peo- 
ple drowned,  more  than  a  thousand  he  believed.  It  was 
long  ago,  and  nothing  of  the  sort  had  ever  happened 
since ;  but  mass  was  still  said  in  his  barrio  for  the  repose 
of  their  souls.  Then  saying,  "  Sir,  I  retire !  "  he  lifted 
his  hat,  gave  me  his  hand  and  was  gone.  An  hour  after, 
I  fancied  him  crossing  the  top  of  the  ridge  in  the  moon- 
light ;  but  I  dare  say  at  that  moment  he  was  curled  up 
under  the  white  zarape,  in  his  hut  at  the  foot  of  the  moun- 
tain, the  hut  that  sheltered  his  mother  and  little  sisters. 
Only  a  peon !  "  But  for  a'  that, —  an'  for  a'  that, —  a 
man  's  a  man  for  a'  that." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

Busy  Leon :  Pleasant  Visit  at  the  Home  of  Don  Juan :  Golden 
Days  in  Lagos :  Aguascalientes  the  Land  of  Hot  Waters, 
Genial  Climate  and  Warm  Hearts :  Its  Foreign  Colony : 
Baths  al  Fresco :  "  Mochte  " :  Barber's  Versatility :  An  An- 
tique Zarape:  Puebla  the  City  of  Angels:  Its  Cathedral: 
Its  Monuments :  Birthday  of  Uncle  Sam :  Difficulties  of 
English :    Abundio. 

AS  the  time  for  my  visit  to  my  friend  Don  Juan, 
who  resided  in  Lagos,  was  drawing  near,  and 
I  wished  to  spend  a  few  hours  in  Leon,  en 
route,  I  now  returned  to  Silao,  where  I  took  the  main 
line  for  Leon,  arriving  there  the  same  afternoon.  After 
securing  lodgings  at  the  hotel  I  went  to  call  upon  a  friend 
I  had  made  in  Mexico  City,  who  was  one  of  Leon's 
leading  lawyers.  As  my  stay  must  necessarily  be  brief, 
and  as  he  was  occupied  at  the  tiine  of  my  arrival,  he  in- 
troduced me  to  a  young  nephew,  who  kindly  offered 
to  go  about  with  me. 

Leon  is  destined  to  become  a  large  manufacturing 
city.  My  friend  the  lawyer  once  said,  "  We  are  not  rich 
in  Leon  but  we  are  all  workers !  "  I  saw  few  signs  of 
extreme  poverty,  at  least  not  the  kind  that  begs ;  and 
judging  from  the  fine  residences,  there  must  be  plenty  of 
wealth,  but  it  is  unostentatious  wealth.  There  is  an 
excellent  street-car  service  in  Leon,  and  its  citizens  seem 
to  prefer  this  means  of  getting  about  to  driving.  I  was 
impressed  by  the  air  of  industry.  It  was  late  in  the 
afternoon  and  the  streets  were  full  of  people,  carrying 

203 


204         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

their  work  to  turn  it  in  at  the  shops.  There  were  men 
with  huge  bundles  of  rebozos  on  their  backs  and  women 
with  their  arms  full  of  shoes.  Until  recently,  all  the 
manufacturing  had  been  given  out  as  piece  work  and 
done  by  the  people  in  their  homes,  the  work  being  paid 
for  on  delivery.  We  visited  the  tanning  establishment 
of  La  Hormiga  (The  Ant),  whose  monthly  output  was 
three  thousand  hides  and  six  thousand  skins.  The  other 
large  factories  were  for  hosiery,  zarapes  and  hats,  re- 
spectively. Leon  has  a  large  brickyard  and  there  are 
extensive  quarries  near,  which  yield  a  fine  stone  for 
building  and  a  beautiful  quartz-like  rock,  almost  a  marble. 
There  is  an  abundant  water  supply,  derived  from  a  large 
reservoir  and  also  from  artificial  wells  in  the  center  of 
the  city.  The  theater  is  one  of  the  best  I  have  seen 
and  quite  appropriate  for  a  city  of  Leon's  size.  It  is 
light  and  roomy,  with  wide  aisles,  and  fitted  with  com- 
fortable cane  opera-chairs. 

I  learned  of  a  novel  method  of  "  playing  bear  "  (love- 
making)  while  in  this  progressive  city.  The  lover 
boards  a  street  car  in  the  cool  of  the  afternoon,  making 
the  circuit  repeatedly,  during  which  he  passes  his  lady's 
dwelling.  This  way  of  doing  it  has  distinct  advantages. 
There  is  a  "  now  you  see  him,  now  you  don't "  feature 
that  must  add  to  the  zest  of  the  lady's  enjoyment,  while 
the  "  bear  "  has  the  chance  to  see  all  the  other  girls. 

The  derivation  of  the  phrase  "  playing  bear  "  is  amus- 
ing. The  lover  begins  his  attentions  by  following,  at 
a  discreet  distance,  the  lady  of  his  adoration,  or  by 
standing  for  hours  before  her  dwelling.  If  his  preten- 
sions meet  with  favor  he  presents  himself  daily  before 
her  home ;  the  regularity  and  duration  of  his  vigil  be- 
ing accepted  as  an  indication  of  his  ardor  and  con- 
stancy.    It  may  be  months  before  he  receives  so  much 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         205 

as  a  word  from  the  lady's  lips,  or  in  writing.  Mean- 
time his  prolonged  and  patient  waiting  earns  for  him 
the  appellation  of  "  bear." 

The  evening  I  spent  at  the  home  of  my  lawyer-friend 
where  I  heard  some  of  the  musicians  of  the  younger 
set  and,  as  in  all  the  cities  I  visited,  their  selections 
were  good  and  remarkably  well  rendered.  There  were 
some  beautiful  voices  and  the  playing  was  notably  fine. 
I  have  concluded  that  Mexico's  best  music  is  confined 
to  the  homes  or  to  small  and  select  recitals.  As  my 
train  left  at  an  early  hour,  I  said  good-by  to  my  host, 
not  expecting  to  see  him  again,  but  he  was  at  the  train 
the  following  morning,  riding  a  superb  horse ;  out  for 
a  gallop  before  breakfast,  he  said. 

I  arrived  at  Lagos  in  the  evening.  True  to  his  promise 
Don  Juan  met  me  at  the  station  and  after  a  short  drive, 
we  alighted  before  an  open  portal,  and  I  saw  the 
patio,  with  the  lights  shining  on  a  thicket  of  roses 
and  turning  the  climbing  bougainvill?ea  into  masses  of 
pink  flame,  and  heard  my  friend  saying,  "  This  is  your 
house !  "  I  shall  not  attempt  to  write  of  the  manifold 
kindnesses  and  sweet  attentions  accorded  the  visitor  in 
a  Mexican  home.  Friendship  with  one  member  of  the 
household  means  friendship  with  all,  entailing  the  inter- 
change of  Christian  names  and  all  the  kindly  relations 
which  that  implies.  A  delightful  compliment  is  paid  a 
guest  in  dispensing  with  much  of  the  accustomed  cere- 
mony. "  Do  what  pleases  you ! "  is  the  assurance  he 
receives.  When  the  hour  came  for  retiring  and  the 
daughter  of  the  house,  a  lovely  little  seiiorita  of  fifteen 
summers,  gave  me  her  hand  and  said  with  charming 
friendliness,  "  You  know  you  are  in  your  own  house !  " 
I  vowed  inwardly  I  had  never  heard  a  prettier  or  more 
gracious  flattery. 


2o6         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

Lagos  possesses  an  ancient  and  luxurious  swimming- 
bath,  hidden  away  in  an  old  garden,  amid  a  tangle  of 
orange  and  rose  trees.  The  repository  of  the  huge, 
rusty  key,  that  opens  the  battered  portals  leading  to 
the  garden,  is  known  only  to  a  few.  Don  Juan  was  in 
the  circle,  however,  and  we  sought  the  garden  and  were 
splashing  in  the  pool,  when  the  sun  first  struck  the  water. 
The  oranges  were  hanging  thick  overhead  and  the 
smell  of  roses  was  in  the  air.  Then  we  returned  to  the 
house  for  aUmier^^o.  My  friend's  mother  presided  but 
took  nothing  herself.  She  had  been  to  early  service 
while  the  stars  were  still  out,  and  had  dcsayuno  before 
we  even  awoke.  Almuerzo  is  really  an  elaborate  break- 
fast. There  was  a  profusion  of  everything  and  much' 
that  was  quite  new  to  me.  One  thing  I  liked  very  much 
was  a  camote,  deliciously  prepared  and  served  with  thick 
cream.  Then  there  were  the  best  little  tortillas,  that 
kept  coming  on  piping  hot  and  were  eaten  with  another 
cream,  something  like  cheese.  There  is  one  woman  in 
every  well-organized  kitchen  who  is  called  the  tortil- 
lera,  and  whose  business  it  is  to  provide  these  small, 
snowy,  delectable  wafers.  I  had  never  tasted  such 
chocolate  before.  It  was  not  so  thick  as  they  make  it 
in  Mexico,  and  far  more  delicious  in  flavor.  Another 
drink,  that  I  had  for  the  first  time  in  Lagos,  was 
colonche.  It  is  the  juice  of  a  special  kind  of  cactus 
fruit,  slightly  fermented.  My  friends  were  lamenting 
that  there  was  none  of  this  fruit  to  be  had,  as  colonche 
is  a  delicacy  and  they  were  anxious  I  should  try  it. 
They  finally  gave  it  up  as  hopeless,  and  naturally  I  was 
consumed  with  a  thirst  for  colonche  which  was  unex- 
pectedly gratified.  I  had  met  once  in  Mexico  City  a  little 
maiden-lady  with  silvery  hair  and  a  face  like  a  cameo, 
who  played  the  guitar  delightfully.     She  lived  in  Lagos. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         207 

How  she  learned  of  my  thirst  is  a  mystery,  but  that 
day  at  dinner  there  was  a  large  decanter  of  colonche, 
sent  with  her  compliments.  It  looks  much  like  currant 
wine  and  is  the  most  delicious  refreshment  I  have  ever 
taken  in  Mexico,  If  the  pulque,  which  Xochitl  presented 
to  old  king  Tecpancaltzin,  impressed  him  as  favorably, 
I  don't  blame  him  for  adopting  it  as  his  favorite  tipple. 

Lagos  has  an  abundance  of  crystal-clear  water.  It 
lies  in  the  center  of  a  level  plain  which  once  held  count- 
less lakes.  ]\Iany  have  disappeared,  but  the  whole  ter- 
ritory seems  underflowed  by  water  and  a  well  of  a 
hundred  feet  invariably  encounters  it.  There  are  some 
remarkable  artificial  wells  quite  near  the  city,  in  a  tract 
that  was  once  the  bed  of  a  lake.  The  soil,  which  carries 
a  great  deal  of  salt,  produces  excellent  alfalfa  and  a  thick, 
wiry  grass  which  cattle  like.  At  intervals  are  seen 
clumps  of  low  bushes,  called  jara  and  a  well,  sunk  at 
any  of  these  points,  results  in  a  vigorous,  unfailing 
flow  of  warm  water.  The  wells  are  made  by  sinking 
an  iron  tube  about  five  inches  in  diameter  the  required 
depth.  There  are  some  ten  or  eleven  in  all,  less  than  a 
hundred  feet  deep,  at  a  cost  not  exceeding  eighty  dollars 
each.  The  water  registers  about  sixty-six  Fahrenheit 
and  is  very  soft  and  pleasant  in  taste.  The  ground 
throughout  this  section  is  fertile,  and  the  people  will 
tell  you  that  if  you  break  ofif  a  twig  and  put  it  in  the 
earth  it  will  grow.  The  trees  are  chiefly  French  elms, 
pepper  trees  and  eucalyptus. 

The  farther  north  I  traveled,  the  more  freedom  I 
observed  in  the  intercourse  of  the  young  people,  espe- 
cially in  the  smaller  cities,  where  the  leading  families 
are  connected  by  long  friendships  and  frequently  by 
marriage.  I  saw  this  illustrated  in  Lagos.  There  were 
more  pretty  girls  there  proportionately  than  in  any  other 


2o8         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

place  I  had  visited,  and  they  flocked  together  Hke  a  big 
family  of  sisters.  Every  evening  a  bevy  of  sehoritas,  ac- 
companied by  a  chaperon  and  attended  by  their  youthful 
admirers,  assembled  in  the  moonlit  corridor  for  an  im- 
promptu musical.  I  never  wearied  of  the  quaint  folk 
songs  and  dancas,  sung  by  the  fresh  young  voices  to 
guitar  and  mandolin  accompaniment. 

I  had  now  been  away  from  Mexico  City  considerably 
over  a  month,  and  was  beginning  to  long  for  the 
metropolis.  I  had  still  to  visit  the  city  of  Aguascalientes, 
where  I  also  had  friends,  and  while  I  anticipated  the 
pleasure  of  meeting  them  and  seeing  the  city,  my  de- 
sire was  strong  to  be  in  Mexico  City,  the  center  of  life 
and  activity  in  the  republic.  After  a  week  of  what  I 
have  always  remembered  as  golden  days  in  the  home  of 
Don  Juan,  I  took  leave  of  his  gentle  mother,  and  all  that 
radiant  circle  of  youthful  dons  and  lovely  sehoritas,  and 
went  on  to  the  city  of  Aguascalientes  or  Hot  Waters. 

A  gentleman,  who  first  visited  Aguascalientes  long 
before  the  day  of  railroads,  had  been  telling  me  of  his 
early  experiences  in  that  delightful  old  town,  of  his 
cordial  reception  at  the  hands  of  its  people,  the  grand 
entertainments  to  which  he  was  bidden  at  adjoining 
haciendas,  and  the  lavish  hospitality  of  his  Mexican 
hosts.  His  reminiscences  recalled  the  letters  of  Mme. 
Calderon  de  la  Barca,  who  wrote  so  delightfully  of  her 
life  in  Mexico  in  the  early  '40's.  Aguascalientes  is  still 
cordial  to  the  stranger,  but  her  cordiality  is  of  a  more 
discreet  and  thoughtful  kind  than  it  was  in  the  halcyon 
days,  when  the  Mexican  don  assumed  that  every  traveler- 
guest  was  a  gentleman  and  treated  him  accordingly.  In 
Mexico  to-day,  as  in  other  lands,  suitable  introductions 
alone  assure  an  entrance  into  Mexican  homes. 

The    foreign  colony   of   Aguascalientes   is   very   large 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         211 

and  English  is  generally  spoken  by  foreigners  and  Mex- 
icans alike.  I  had  the  fortune  to  be  put  up  at  the  Casino 
where  I  found  pleasant  reading-  and  writing-roooms, 
card-rooms,  billiard  and  pool,  excellent  baths  and  a  cafe. 
There  were  some  hundred  members  in  the  club,  one-third 
of  whom  were  foreigners.  That  night  my  Mexican 
friends  took  me  to  visit  some  English  friends  of  theirs, 
whom  they  described  as  muy  simpaticos  (very  agree- 
able). These  young  men,  who  lived  in  bachelors'  apart- 
ments, had  one  room  devoted  to  athletic  sports;  and  we 
found  several  fellows,  gloves  on,  pummeling  each  other 
for  dear  life.  After  our  arrival,  there  was  a  round  be- 
tween two  young  Mexicans,  and  then  one  of  our  hosts 
put  on  the  gloves  with  a  Mexican.  Fencing  was  also 
on  the  cards,  although  there  was  none  on  this  occasion. 
We  adjourned  to  the  sala  for  music  and  refreshments, 
and  I  took  occasion  to  make  some  inquiries  regarding 
the  nationalities  of  the  different  gentlemen  in  the  com- 
pany. The  following  countries  were  represented  in  ad- 
dition to  Mexico :  England,  France,  Germany,  Canada 
and  the  United  States. 

I  was  convinced  of  the  sincerity  of  the  friendship 
between  these  young  Mexicans  and  their  friends,  by  an 
amusing  conversation  that  passed  between  two  of  their 
number.  One  of  the  young  dons,  it  seemed,  was  some- 
what a  Lothario,  preferring  to  flit  from  flower  to 
flower,  or  rather  from  window  tO'  window,  instead  of 
confining  his  amorous  glances  always  to  the  same  halcon. 
One  of  his  Northern  friends,  a  Canadian,  twitted  him 
on  his  inconstancy  and  then  got  off  something  like  the 
following,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  Mexicans.  "  If 
I  had  a  novia  (sweetheart),  how  constant  I  would  be! 
Always  sighing,  every  night,  beneath  her  window !  " 

"  Why  have  n't  you  one  ?  "  inquired  the  Mexican. 


212         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

"  Because  I  don't  know  how  to  '  play  bear/  "  replied 
his  friend  sadly. 

"  I  will  teach  you,  I  will  teach  you ! "  said  the  young 
Mexican  so  earnestly,  the  genuineness  of  his  offer  was 
not  to  be  doubted.  Nor  could  any  better  proof  be  shown 
of  disinterested  friendship,  than  the  willingness  to  in- 
itiate a  foreigner  into  the  methods  of  courtship  em- 
ployed in  Mexico. 

The  warm  baths,  in  which  the  place  abounds,  are 
near  the  station,  although  the  most  popular  ones  are 
at  the  end  of  the  Alameda.  I  was  glad  to  see  free  baths 
for  both  men  and  women  and  they  seemed  to  be  well 
patronized ;  but  the  Indians  are  strange  creatures. 
Within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  depot  and  close  to  the 
tracks,  were  long,  narrow  ditches  filled  with  this  same 
warm  water.  Here  scores  of  women  and  girls  were 
bathing;  there  must  have  been  between  sixty  and  eighty 
in  all,  splashing  and  ducking  in  the  muddy  water,  while 
the  children  tumbled  about  in  shallow  puddles  caused  by 
the  overflow.  All  seemed  utterly  unconscious  and  I  pre- 
sume they  liked  it  better  than  being  shut  inside  four 
walls.  Their  clothing  had  been  washed  and  spread  on 
the  grass  to  dry,  and  when  an  Indian  woman  dresses 
she  does  it  so  deftly,  there  is  nothing  immodest  about  it. 

In  every  locality  the  people  have  some  dish  which  is 
peculiarly  their  own.  From  the  time  I  arrived  in 
Queretaro  I  saw  camotes  in  abundance,  and  wished  more 
than  once  the  hotels  would  serve  them,  instead  of  their 
incessant  meat  courses.  They  are  really  a  sweet  potato, 
and  if  well  cooked,  delicious.  The  camote  dulce  or 
preserve  of  Puebla  is  famous,  and  may  be  bought  at  the 
capital,  but  I  never  saw  them  there  in  any  other  form. 
Here  the  women  boil  the  potatoes  and  mash  them  up 
in  a  small  wooden  bowl,  adding  milk  to  suit  the  taste  of 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         213 

the  customer.  I  had  boiled  camotes  with  cream,  when 
I  was  in  Lagos,  and  hked  them  immensely.  In  Uruapan, 
the  colored  servant  of  a  Southern  gentleman  recognized 
their  kinship  to  the  sweet  potato,  and  fried  them 
deliciously.  At  the  hotel  in  Aguas,  the  Chinese  cook 
prepared  them  the  same  way ;  and  I  was  sad  at  the 
thought  of  all  the  time  I  had  spent  in  Mexico  without 
them. 

I  must  not  fail  to  speak  of  "  Mochte."  The  pro- 
prietor calling  him  "  Moctecuhzoma,"  but  I  compromised 
with  "  Mochte."  Mochte  was  the  small,  fat  Indian  boy 
who  made  my  bed,  tucking  the  covers  in  religiously  at 
the  head  and  leaving  them  loose  at  the  foot.  Perhaps 
he  thought  I  slept  wrong-end-to:  or  more  likely  as- 
sumed that  my  feet  were  as  indifferent  to  cold  as  his 
own,  and  that,  like  him,  I  wanted  to  be  well  muffled 
up  about  the  head.  Mochte  had  a  thick,  stubby  foot, 
with  toes  that  looked  as  though  they  could  perform  the 
function  of  fingers  if  necessary. 

Why  the  barbers  of  Aguascalientes  charge  just  half 
what  they  do  in  other  places  is  a  mystery,  but  such  is 
the  case.  I  was  riding  with  my  friend  Don  Alberto 
through  one  of  the  outer  barrios  and  in  passing  a  small 
barber-shop  he  said,  "  The  barber-shops  here  charge 
three  cents  and  do  all  this :  they  cut  your  hair,  shave 
you,  extract  a  tooth  and  apply  leeches."  I  accepted  this 
as  a  jest,  but  when  I  later  patronized  the  best  hair- 
dresser in  town  and  he  asked  the  modest  sum  of  twelve 
cents,  I  decided  that  after  all  my  friend's  statement  was 
not  so  unreasonable. 

I  relapsed  into  my  old  ways  in  Aguas,  that  is  I  went 
in  pursuit  of  a  gorgeous  zarape  and  landed  the  prize. 
I  resolved,  on  beginning  my  journey,  not  to  buy  a  single 
zarape ;  but  this  one  was  irresistible,  a  genuine  Saltillo, 


214         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

with  greens,  blites,  reds  and  yellows,  all  faded  and  mel- 
lowed with  age.  The  wearer  went  into  a  shop  to  buy 
cigarros  and  I  hung  around  till  he  catne  out,  and  then 
inquired  politely  if  he  cared  to  sell  his  overcoat.  Of 
course  he  did !  Who  ever  saw  a  peon  who  would  n't 
sell  his  zarape  after  the  sun  came  out?  The  purchase 
involved  a  long  walk  in  the  wake  of  the  peon  and  con- 
siderable talk  as  to  price,  but  it  resulted  in  his  handing 
it  over.  He  would  get  a  new  one,  red  and  warm,  for 
the  sixth  part  of  what  he  sold  it  for ;  and  I  was  at  last 
the  happy  possessor  of  a  Saltillo  zarape.  And  yet  I 
was  not  happy.  I  had  acquired,  through  the  ignorance 
of  the  owner,  property  at  less  than  its  market-value.  It 
is  difficult  to  judge  what  the  value  of  an  antique  zarape 
is,  but  I  felt  sure  this  one  would  bring  many  times  what 
I  paid  for  it.  And  with  the  thoughtless  greed  of  the 
trader  I  had  offered  the  peon  less  than  he  asked.  While 
I  make  no  pretense  to  extraordinary  fairness  in  trade, 
I  have  never  experienced  satisfaction,  the  excitement 
once  passed,  in  having  gained  unreasonable  advantage. 
On  my  next  visit  to  the  mines  of  my  friend,  Don  Alfredo, 
I  presented  the  zarape  to  Doiia  Marciana,  who  hung  it 
up  as  a  window-curtain.  I  discovered  then  that  even 
a  votive-offering  does  not  atone  for  unscrupulous  pos- 
sessing. 

I  fear  that  I  disappointed  my  Aguascalientes  friends. 
They  were  constant  in  their  attentions,  and  again  I  was 
bidden  to  their  homes  where  I  received  the  same  kind 
and  sincere  welcome.  My  desire  to  be  again  in  Mexico 
City  increased ;  and  while  as  in  all  great  cities  there  is 
a  hardness  to  surface-life  in  Mexico,  there  are  also  the 
brilliant  accomjianimcnts  of  hardness  that  attract. 
Then,  too,  my  friends'  vacations  were  nearly  over,  and 
they  would  shortly  return  to  the  capital.     So  it  was  with 


I  lie  >.i,,N(Mi 


In  a  convent  L;ardi;n,   I'licbhi 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         217 

the  prospect  of  an  early  meeting  that  we  said,  "  Hasta 
luego !  "  and  I  took  train  for  Alexico  City. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  said,  in  effect,  that  the  traveler, 
journey  where  he  will,  carries  his  personal  worries  with 
him.  This  I  proved  on  returning  to  Mexico.  An 
uneasy,  restless  spirit  possessed  me,  and,  worst  of 
all,  I  failed  in  my  endeavor  to  analyze  it.  A  Spanish 
philosopher  has  said,  "  There  is  a  remedy  for  everything 
but  death !  "  I  felt  there  was  a  cure  for  my  restlessness 
if  I  could  only  discover  it.  As  it  was,  a  week  in  the 
capital  was  enough.  The  rains  persisted,  and  the  daily 
appearance,  every  afternoon,  of  dark,  forbidding  storm- 
clouds,  with  the  close,  oppressive  air  that  in  Mexico 
precedes  the  storm,  proved  unutterably  depressing.  At 
night  the  air,  which  was  still  sultry,  was  charged  with 
a  peculiar  odor,  suggesting  salt-marsh ;  and  as  none  of 
my  friends  could  account  for  it,  they  all  assumed  that 
it  was  both  noxious  and  deadly.  To  add  to  the  festive 
conditions  extant  in  the  capital,  the  drainage-works 
were  then  in  course  of  construction ;  and  it  seemed  not 
unlikely  the  unwholesome  smells  emanated  from  there. 

My  friends,  observing  my  unrest,  recommended  a 
visit  to  Puebla ;  and  with  slight  urging  from  them, 
I  set  out  for  the  "  City  of  the  Angels,"  with  the  added 
anticipation  of  seeing  the  pretty  town  of  Jalapa,  which 
enjoys  a  more  mundane  celebrity  for  the  beauty  of  its 
women. 

Puebla  is  well-named  "  City  of  the  Angels."  It 
proved  little  short  of  Heaven  after  la  capital,  with  its 
heat,  dust  and  drainage  odors.  I  found  that  the  salt- 
marsh  odor,  which  had  permeated  Mexico  City  at  night, 
was  not  pernicious,  as  I  had  feared.  We  had  it  for 
fully  half  an  hour  on  the  train  after  leaving,  in  crossing 
the  flats  which  are   full  of  alkali.     I   had   a   feeling  of 


2i8         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

being  near  the  sea.  The  ride  to  Puebla  by  day  is  charm- 
ing. At  Texcoco  the  salt  smell  changes  for  the  scent 
of  flowers,  and  from  there  on  the  air  is  sweet.  At 
Mazapa,  where  there  is  a  big  hacienda,  I  got  the  pun- 
gent, resinous  smell  of  pine,  and  then  I  saw  that  the 
hacienda  advertises  pine  timber.  Otumba,  which  I  al- 
ways associate  with  battles  (Cortes  had  a  tremendous 
fight  there)  looked  peaceful  enough.  I  saw  several  peo- 
ple embracing  but  no  signs  of  fighting. 

Puebla's  population  is  95,000.  The  city  impresses  you 
at  once  with  its  cleanliness.  You  have  the  feeling  of 
being  high  up  (it  is  nearly  as  high  as  Mexico  City)  and 
also  a  feeling  that  you  are  not  shut  in.  This  is  partly 
due  to  the  outlook,  which  is  unconfined  save  for  low 
hills;  yet  there  is  a  buoyancy,  a  freedom  from  oppres- 
sion in  the  atmosphere  that  adds  to  the  feeling. 

The  churches  are  gorgeous.  I  did  not  appreciate  the 
cathedral  at  first  and  I  doubt  whether  it  is  possible  to 
appreciate  so  stupendous  an  edifice  on  short  acquaint- 
ance. I  had  to  grow  to  like  Mexico's  cathedral,  while 
some  of  the  smaller  churches  pleased  me  at  once.  The 
only  cathedral  that  held  me  from  the  first  was  Morelia's. 
There  is  an  enchanting  quality,  a  lightness,  a  grace  of 
outline,  that  captivate  the  beholder.  I  ended  by  enjoy- 
ing Puebla's  cathedral.  The  rains  had  washed  the 
marble  figures  of  the  saints  snow-white,  and  made  the 
gray  building-stone  more  somber.  I  place  a  great  deal  of 
importance  on  color  in  buildings  and  their  surroundings. 
In  this  connection,  I  fancy  cloudy  skies  and  dull  gray 
days  suit  this  cathedral  better  than  the  golden  light  and 
the  bright  blue  heavens  that  seem  the  fitting  environment 
for  Morelia's.  I  never  realized  until  now  how  I  had  un- 
consciously allowed  these  great  churches  to  make  for  me 
the    atmosphere    of    their    respective    cities.     Mexico's 


Moiniinent  of  Iiidepentlence,  Fuebhi 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         221 

cathedral  is  big,  massive,  commanding;  generous  and 
spreading,  rather  than  towering  in  its  proportions.  That 
of  Moreha  has  something  fairy-like  about  it;  its  ro- 
mantic beauty  seems  to  dominate  the  half-tropical  city, 
with  its  silent  houses,  sleeping  gardens,  and  air  of 
mysterious  repose.  Puebla's  cathedral  is  cold,  severe, 
magnificent.  It  towers  to  Heaven.  While  Mexico's 
cathedral  bells  make  a  deafening  tumult,  cheery  withal, 
and  Morelia's  bells  are  silver  chimes,  the  bells  of 
Puebla's  great  temple  are  deep-toned,  solemn,  austere. 
The  city  itself  is  dignified.  The  people  have  an  air  of 
quiet  composure  and  there  is  little  evidence  of  frivolity. 
The  hospital  of  Puebla  is  an  enormous  and  very 
splendid  structure,  filling  the  whole  of  one  square,  north, 
east,  south  and  west.  The  entrance  is  adorned  with  a 
row  of  superb  columns,  and  the  front  of  the  central  or 
main  portion  is  entirely  of  red,  yellow  and  black  bricks, 
disposed  in  an  agreeable  design  and  making  a  fine  color 
effect.  The  other  edifice  of  first  importance  is  the 
Palacio  Municipal,  an  elaborate  structure  of  gray  stone, 
fronting  on  the  plaza.  Puebla's  houses  are  famous  for 
their  tiles,  which  give  a  picturesque  variety  of  color, 
peculiar  to  this  city  alone,  I  believe.  Often  the  fronts 
are  of  bright  glazed  tiles,  with  overhanging  cornices  of 
stone,  elaborately  carved  and  painted.  You  get  the  im- 
pression that  the  old  residents  were  magnificent  in  their 
tastes ;  though  such  profuseness  of  ornament  in  building 
could  only  have  prevailed  where  labor  cost  little.  Many 
of  the  houses,  where  not  of  tiles,  are  painted  in  delicate 
colors.  I  saw  one  which  was  a  fine  old  rose,  with  its 
wide,  richly  carved  cornice  and  balconies  painted  white. 
The  balconies  were  filled  with  geraniums  which  made  a 
blaze  of  color.  The  eft'ect  was  charming.  As  in  Mex- 
ico, many  of  the  churches  are  hidden  by  other  more 


222         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

recent  buildings.  Across  the  stretch  of  some  uninter- 
esting roof,  you  get  glimpses  of  fine  bits  of  carving,  the 
best  part  being  efifectually  hidden.  There  are,  too,  many 
unfinished  churches,  though  I  never  object  to  one  tower 
being  left  incomplete. 

On  approaching  Puebla  from  Mexico  you  have  a  fine 
view  of  the  great  pyramid  of  Cholula,  crowned  by  the 
little  church  of  Nuestra  Senora  de  los  Remedios,  whose 
graceful  lines  and  slender  towers  are  well-known  from 
photographs.  It  is  hard  to  realize  that  the  hill  is  arti- 
ficial, it  is  so  covered  with  vegetation ;  and  harder  still 
to  substitute  in  the  mind's  eye,  for  the  pure  white  church, 
the  frowning  walls  of  the  old  temple,  dedicated  to 
heathen  rites  and  sacrifice.  It  is  hard  to  realize  that, 
at  the  coming  of  the  Spaniards,  where  Puebla  stands 
there  was  nothing;  while  quaint  Cholula,  now  the  merest 
pueblo,  was  then  a  great  Indian  city,  a  city  of  temples, 
the  Mecca  of  the  Indian  empire.  The  ride  from  Puebla 
to  Cholula  is  a  matter  of  thirty  minutes,  but  the  con- 
trast is  that  of  an  old,  retired  village  as  opposed  to  a 
proud  and  opulent  city.  The  houses  of  Cholula  are 
generally  one  story  and  the  churches  are  plain  in  con- 
struction. The  people  as  a  rule  are  Indian  in  type,  but 
thrifty  and  neat;  and  the  town  has  a  comfortable  air, 
the  plaza  especially  being  attractive  and  well  kept.  The 
old  church  of  San  Andres,  outside  the  town,  is  a  vener- 
able, moss-grown  pile,  and  in  it  there  is  a  quaintly 
carved  confessional.  The  legend  goes  that  in  it  a  priest 
was  murdered ;  and  to  this  day  you  can  sec  the  blood 
stains  on  the  rawhide  covering. 

Puebla  has  a  fine  pasco  or  alauicda  with  two  splendid 
monuments.  There  is  nothing  better  in  Mexico,  imless 
it  be  the  Cuauhtemoc  statue  which  would  be  remarkable 
anywhere.     One  of  these  is  to  Nicolas  Bravo.     A  plain 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         223 

shaft  of  gray  stone  rises  from  the  pedestal,  with  the 
figure  of  the  hero  in  bronze,  in  general's  uniform,  and 
the  angel  of  victory  descending  to  crown  him  with  laurel. 
The  other,  which  is  very  large,  is  dedicated  to  "  Los 
Heroes  de  la  Independencia."  The  shaft  is  marble.  The 
figures  clustered  about  it,  which  are  bronze,  are  Hidalgo, 
Iturbide,  Morelos,  Allende  and  Aldama.  Then  there 
is  Pipila,  with  the  great  stone  on  his  back,  with  which 
he  battered  in  the  doors  of  the  royalist  stronghold  at 
Guanajuato,  another  peon  with  a  torch,  and  the  drum- 
mer boy,  who  peers  up  into  Hidalgo's  face  while  he 
beats  the  peal  *'  to  arms."  The  old  paseo,  which  has 
magnificent  trees,  is  now  deserted,  save  by  the  common 
people. 

In  the  morning  I  went  up  to  the  hotel  roof  to  view  the 
city.  I  found  a  nice  old  lady  up  there,  doing  some  odd 
chores,  and  she  gladly  showed  me  the  various  points  of 
interest.  She  said  she  was  born  in  the  year  of  "  the 
big  cholera."  I  don't  know  just  when  that  was,  but  I 
think  early  in  the  thirties.  She  told  me  the  names  of  all 
the  churches  in  Puebla,  and  she  knew  them  by  their 
towers.  Then  she  showed  me  the  forts  of  Loreto  and 
Guadalupe  of  Cinco  de  Mayo  fame,  and  told  me  how, 
after  the  fighting,  she  saw  the  dead  soldiers  lying  under 
the  portales.  Pohrccitos  (poor  things)  she  called  them. 
She  told  me  about  the  soldiers  Americanos  coming, 
too,  and  declared  that  some  of  the  charro  horsemen 
cast  their  reatas  at  them,  and  dragged  them  from  the 
saddle.  They,  too,  were  pohrccitos,  as,  in  fact,  were  all 
who  were  killed,  whether  friend  or  foe.  While  listening 
to  her,  I  was  reminded  that  it  was  my  country's  birthday, 
seeing  the  stars  and  stripes  floating  from  a  housetop; 
and  I  was  curious  to  see  if  she  knew  the  flag.  She  said 
she  was  not  sure,  but  she  thought  it  was  the  Spanish 


224         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

flag:  that  some  one  was  celebrating  a  dia  santo.  "  Per- 
haps it  is  Tio  Samuel  (Uncle  Samuel),"  I  suggested. 
She  looked  a  little  mystified  and  said,  "  Perhaps." 

As  yet  I  had  not  seen  the  volcanoes  for  the  clouds; 
but  Abundio,  the  mozo  in  charge  of  my  room,  said  at 
5  A.  M.  they  were  resplandecientcs,  (resplendent)  and 
volunteered  to  call  me.  I  guessed  that  Abundio  was 
from  Oaxaca,  and  this  gratified  him  so  that  he  gave  me 
a  short  history  of  himself.  He  is  a  Mixteco,  and  ex- 
tremely warlike  in  his  inclinations.  He  says  his  pueblo 
was  continually  in  war  with  the  adjoining  one.  He 
is  n't  quite  sure  whether  he  ever  killed  a  man  or  not ; " 
but  after  a  fight,  there  would  frequently  be  ten  to  a 
dozen  dead.  He  said  the  Oaxaquenos  are  the  bravest 
Indios  in  the  republic,  that  they  can  live  on  little  or  noth- 
ing, even  go  two  days  without  food ;  and  that  they  can 
run  up  the  steep  hills  and  rocks  like  deer.  He  said 
he  would  not  care  to  be  a  regular  soldier,  whom  he  con- 
temptuously called  a  slave,  but  he  thought  it  was  good 
to  fight  for  pure  liking.  He  liked  geography  and 
seemed  to  have  a  general  idea  of  the  old  world  coun- 
tries, asking  whether  Russia  was  as  large  as  Estados 
Unidos.  He  was  going  to  work  till  he  had  saved  a 
hundred  dollars.  Then  he  would  buy  some  good  books, 
"  with  which  one  could  civilize  himself  somewhat,"  and 
retire  to  his  pueblo  to  study.  Abundio  assured  me  that 
all  the  most  powerful  men  come  from  his  state;  and 
gave  me  a  long  list  of  names,  beginning  naturally  with 
Don  Porfirio  Diaz,  and  also  accounts  of  several  battles  in 
which  he  was  the  hero.  I  asked  Abundio  for  fun  if 
he  had  n't  some  Spanish  blood.  He  shook  his  finger  and 
said,  "  Not  one  drop."  This  was  quite  evident.  He 
had  a  mat  of  coarse  black  hair,  rather  small,  snapping 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         227 

eyes,  and  his  face  was  very  dark,  but  bright  and  viva- 
cious. 

While  in  Puebla  I  had  a  pleasant  morning  with  the 
good  priest  in  charge  of  the  ancient  convent  "  El  Car- 
men." I  found  him  entertaining  a  brother-priest,  and 
together  we  wandered  through  the  interminable  corri- 
dors of  the  old  convent,  founded  by  the  early  Spaniards 
over  three  centuries  ago,  with  the  massive,  carved  arches, 
tiled  stairways,  and  dilapidated  but  priceless  paintings 
on  the  walls  of  the  patios,  where  the  sunlight  reveals 
the  wonderful  colors,  and  in  dark  recesses,  where  they 
are  scarcely  visible.  The  convent  is  now  a  home  for  poor 
boys,  and  as  there  were  no  classes,  the  youngsters  were 
busy  making  toy  balloons  of  colored  tissue  paper,  which 
the  padre  said  delighted  them  above  all  other  amuse- 
ments. 

As  we  strolled  about,  we  compared  adventures  and 
impressions  in  traveling  through  the  republic.  The 
padre  had  traveled  much  in  various  parts  and  on  various 
missions.  He  told  of  a  long  journey  in  the  State  of 
IMichoacan,  where  they  entered  pueblos  in  which  the 
Indians  neither  spoke  a  word  of  Spanish  nor  wore  any 
clothing,  other  than  the  primitive  cape  of  palm  leaves. 
In  one  village,  the  people  cried  when  they  saw  them, 
"  Here  come  the  revolutionists,"  and  ran  to  get  their 
machetes.  On  learning  their  mission,  they  cast  them- 
selves on  the  ground,  face  down,  and  begged  their  bene- 
diction. They  then  did  everything  they  could  for  their 
comfort,  bringing  them  a  hot  drink  of  chocolate  and 
ground  melon  seeds,  their  one  article  of  food  at  that 
season.  How  little  we  know,  in  our  railway  travels,  of 
the  primitive  peoples  in  Mexico! 

This   was  the  pleasantest  experience  of  my  visit  to 


228         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

Puebla,  and  I  think  the  padres  enjoyed  it  as  well.  I  am 
sure  that  no  thought  of  creed  entered  anybody's  mind. 
I  knew  them  for  good,  devoted  men,  and  they  knew  me 
for  a  fellow  man. 

It  had  rained  the  best  part  of  the  time  while  I  was  in 
Puebla.  The  city  takes  care  of  the  water  in  the  streets 
better  than  any  other  in  the  republic.  Although  ap- 
parently level,  there  is  still  grade  enough  to  keep  the 
water  moving;  and  wherever  two  streets  come  together, 
there  is  a  box-like  gutter  of  masonry,  directly  in  the 
middle,  which  collects  the  flood  and  conveys  it  past  the 
crossing.  The  gutters  are  spanned  by  little  stone 
bridges,  which  are  patronized  by  the  genie  decente  (de- 
cent people)  ;  the  common  people,  usually  barefooted, 
seeming  to  prefer  splashing  through  the  muddy  stream. 
Constant  rain  in  a  big  city  becomes  very  monotonous, 
and  I  was  looking  forward  with  joy  to  Jalapa,  with  its 
balmy  air,  wealth  of  flowers  and  various  tropical  beau- 
ties. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Fair  Jalapa :  New  Scenes  and  Customs :  A  Strange  Plant : 
The  Stone  Monkey :  The  Cathedral :  The  Market :  The 
Plaza:  Longing  for  Old  Friends:  Ancient  Tlaxcala :  His- 
torical Reminiscence :  Convent  of  San  Francisco :  Meeting 
the  Governor :     El  Santuario  :     Romance  and  Tragedy. 

I  DEPARTED  from  Puebla  in  the  morning.  The 
first  part  of  the  journey  lay  across  a  level  and  fer- 
tile country,  which  ascends  gradually,  past  the  old 
Spanish  fortress  at  Perote,  to  the  summit  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  tableland,  where  the  altitude  is  over  nine 
thousand  feet.  From  there  the  descent  into  the  hot 
country  is  rapid  and  the  scenery  is  very  beautiful.  I 
arrived  at  Jalapa,  which  lies  midway  between  the  table- 
land and  the  coast,  in  the  early  afternoon.  At  first 
sight  I  thought,  "  It  is  like  Uruapan !  "  I  took  the  open 
car,  drawn  by  a  six-mule  team,  and  we  started  for  cl 
centra.  The  mules  were  buckskins,  with  the  black  stripe 
along  the  backbone  and  the  zebra  markings,  that  mean 
good  breed ;  and  they  were  as  alike  as  six  peas  in  a 
pod.  They  carried  us  at  a  spanking  trot,  up  a  long, 
narrow,  cobble-paved  street,  between  neat,  one-story 
tiled  houses,  with  wide,  overhanging  eaves  common 
to  the  hot  country.  At  the  end  of  the  street  is  a  sharp 
ascent.  The  driver  whistled  and  rattled  the  brake,  the 
six  buckskins  tugged  at  their  collars,  there  was  a  hur- 
ried scramble  of  hoofs  on  the  cobbles,  and  we  were  at 
the  top,  trotting  past  the  plaza  with  its  palms,  ever- 
greens   and    briar-rose    hedges,    into    the    center    of    the 

231 


232         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

town,  where  the  old  Cathedral  looks  across  a  smaller 
plaza  at  el  Palacio  Municipal,  with  the  comfortable  hotel 
and  the  wide  portales  filling  the  farther  end  of  the 
square.  On  strolling  to  the  plaza  after  dinner  I  was  un- 
prepared for  the  magnificent  scene  that  met  my  eyes. 
The  plaza  crowns  the  hill,  and  from  it  you  look  off,  over 
the  lower  portion  of  the  city,  across  a  broad  stretch  of 
country  to  the  distant  mountains.  It  being  then  the 
rainy  season,  they  were  partly  hidden  by  the  mists,  which 
rested  on  their  peaks,  filled  the  canons,  and  floated  before 
them,  revealing  illusive,  sunlit  vistas.  What  they  must 
be  on  a  clear  day,  with  Orizaba  lifting  his  white  crest 
eighteen  thousand  feet  into  the  blue,  I  could  but  partly 
conceive.  Throughout  my  stay,  I  had  not  so  much  as 
a  peep  at  the  ancient  monarch,  and  with  Mrs.  Hudson's 
charming  legend  fresh  in  mind,  I  fancied  him,  in  his 
annual  mourning  period,  when  he  wraps  himself,  head 
and  all,  in  his  cloud-blanket  and  refuses  to  look  upon 
his  people. 

Jalapa's  plaza  is  a  terrace  garden,  beautiful  with 
flowers  and  crystal  fountains ;  but  when  you  tire  of  all 
these,  there  are  the  mountains  to  look  upon.  You  leave 
the  place  reluctantly,  looking  back,  and  resolve  that  next 
time  you  will  devote  yourself  to  the  garden.  I  went 
the  next  morning  determined  to  see  nothing  but  the 
flowers,  which  were  profuse  and  varied.  The  gardener 
said  that  March,  April  and  May  were  the  flower  months. 
In  addition  to  briar  roses,  which  form  the  hedges,  there 
were  fuschias,  hydrangeas,  fleurs-de-lis,  balsam,  dahlias, 
marguerites,  sweet  william,  larkspur,  chrysanthemums, 
cadmus,  canna,  roses  and  lilies  in  variety,  and  many  others 
that  I  did  not  know.  There  was  one  particularly  gor- 
geous lily  in  the  Spanish  colors,  crimson  and  gold ;  and  a 
shrub,   called    tidipan,    which   bears   both   a    single   and 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         233 

double  flower  of  crimson,  with  yellow  stamens.  One  has 
but  one  set  of  petals,  with  the  yellow  tuft  in  the  center, 
while  others,  on  the  same  tree,  are  as  full  as  double 
poppies. 

Jalapa  is  a  clean  city.  It  is  built  on  a  hill  and  drains 
naturally.  I  smelled  no  uncanny  smells  there.  The 
fountains  are  especially  attractive,  being  usually  of  blue 
and  white  tiles,  spotless,  and  filled  with  clear,  cool  water. 
There  is  that  pleasant  monotony  in  the  houses  which  is 
peculiar  to  the  old  cities,  or  the  old  parts  of  cities.  I 
am  sure  the  eye  is  oftener  troubled  by  the  glaring  unre- 
lation  of  adjoining  houses,  than  by  their  sameness.  In 
Jalapa  there  are  whole  squares  of  low,  cool-looking 
houses,  some  light  blue,  others  terra-cotta  or  white. 
The  tile  roofs  have  taken  on  a  good  color  with  age : 
the  windows  are  protected  by  green  or  black  bars,  and 
through  the  Moorish  grills  at  the  entrances  one  gets  a 
glimpse  of  flowering  patios.  All  growing  things  flourish, 
there  is  such  an  abundance  of  water.  In  the  outskirts  of 
the  city,  many  houses  have  extensive  walled  gardens, 
which  are  jungles  of  coffee  shrubs  and  banana  palms. 
As  the  roadways  are  built  up,  you  look  over  the  walls 
and  down  upon  a  tangled  thicket  of  green.  On  every 
hand  you  hear  running  water,  but  so  thick  is  the  foli- 
age, you  seldom  see  it.  IMany  of  these  walls  are  pro- 
vided with  a  long,  low  bench  on  the  street  side ;  in  fact 
there  is  every  opportunity  for  resting,  with  comfortable 
seats  lining  the  long  front  corridor  of  the  palace  and 
chairs  under  the  portales,  fronting  the  plaza.  Never- 
theless I  was  impressed  by  the  vivacity  and  activity  of 
the  Jalapenos.  They  are  quite  different  in  this  respect 
from  any  people  I  have  met  in  my  travels.  The  lower 
classes  are  notably  decent  and  cleanly.  They  walk 
rapidly,   with  erect,   graceful   carriage,   and   collectively 


234         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

they  are  a  handsome  people.  I  noticed  more  than  usual 
in  the  poor  people,  that  gentle,  kindly  expression  that 
draws  me  to  them:  and  if  I  spoke  to  them,  their  way  of 
answering  showed  them  as  kindly  as  they  looked. 

The  city  has  rather  a  cosmopolitan  air  and  really  is  a 
center  in  a  way.  The  foreigner  attracts  little  attention, 
but  meets  everywhere  with  friendly  treatment.  One  gets 
an  idea  of  what  is  meant  by  la  franqncza  de  la  casta  (the 
frankness  of  the  coast).  There  is  little  begging  and  all 
the  working-people  have  a  comfortable  look.  This  ex- 
tends to  the  beasts.  The  mules  are  all  sleek  and  lively, 
and  I  saw  men  leading  burros  with  halters.  This  burro 
seems  quite  different  from  the  one  we  see  in  Mexico  City. 
iHe  is  quite  a  fiery  little  fellow,  proud  and  quick-stepping, 
and  looks  as  though  he  would  bolt  on  provocation.  Could 
anything  be  more  different  than  the  yoking  and  driving  of 
oxen  in  Northern  lands  and  in  Mexico?  Here  the  yoke 
is  for  the  neck,  and  the  oxen  are  guided  by  "  Gee-haw, 
buck ! "  There,  the  yoke  is  for  the  horns,  and  the 
driver  walks  silently  ahead,  his  goad  resting  lightly 
on  the  cross-bar  between  the  heads  of  the  oxen  and  the 
great  brutes  follow  its  slightest  deviation. 

Jalapa  is  lighted  by  electricity,  as  are  the  palace  and 
various  buildings.  The  Jalapa  Electric  Light  and  Power 
Co.,  which  has  its  plant  at  the  falls  of  Texolo,  lights  in 
addition  to  Jalapa,  the  adjacent  towns  of  Coatepec,  Xico 
and  Teocelo,  and  several  large  haciendas,  besides  sup- 
plying power  for  factories  and  coffee  mills.  At  Xico, 
about  an  hour's  run  from  Jalapa,  trains  connect  with 
the  stage,  which  conveys  passengers  to  la  Cascada  de 
Texolo  one  of  the  beauty  spots  thereabouts.  Texolo, 
pronounced  Tay-sho-lo,  means  "  stone  monkey."  In  a 
corn  patch,  at  some  little  distance  from  the  falls,  there 
is  a  rock  with  the  figure  of  a  monkey   carved   on   it. 


THE  AIAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         235 

The  Indians  that  people  the  district  say  that  when  the 
fathers  of  their  tribe  settled  there,  they  encountered  the 
carving,  left  by  a  previous  people.  The  older  tribe,  ac- 
cording to  legends,  was  very  extensive.  Old  Xico,  whose 
site  is  now  marked  by  a  few  ruined  dwellings,  is  said  to 
have  been  a  large  town.  A  plague  destroyed  the  popu- 
lace and  the  town  gradually  disappeared.  An  extensive 
area  is  thickly  strewn  with  obsidian  arrow  fragments  and 
pieces  of  pottery,  and  a  number  of  stone  idols  have 
been   discovered    there. 

The  falls,  which  are  magnificent,  are  in  a  deep  gorge, 
where  vegetation  runs  riot.  There  are  beautiful  wild 
flowers,  among  them  orchids  of  a  brilliant  rose-pink, 
and  the  finest  ferns  I  ever  saw.  The  tree  ferns  are  es- 
pecially large  and  full  and  there  is  a  finer  variety,  which 
hangs  from  the  rocks  in  great  clusters ;  also  a  species 
that  I  think  is  called  elk-horn.  The  strangest  plant  is 
one  with  a  feathery,  fern-like  foliage  called  vcrgonzoso 
which  I  take  to  mean,  "  the  ashamed  one."  At  the 
slightest  touch,  not  only  of  a  live  body  but  of  any  for- 
eign object,  the  leaves  curl  up  tightly  and  remain  closed 
■ —  how  long  I  cannot  say.  You  touch  the  top  of  the 
plant  and  it  shuts  up,  quick  as  a  wink :  you  touch  a  lower 
branch,  and  presto!  that  has  closed.  If  you  grasp  the 
stalk,  the  entire  thing  seems  to  go  to  sleep,  all  the  little 
branches  drooping,  hanging  limp  and  apparently  life- 
less. The  flower  is  a  little  fuzzy  tuft,  pale  pink.  There 
is  another  plant,  evidently  of  the  same  family,  which  has 
a  yellow  bloom.  When  there  are  no  flowers,  however, 
you  cannot  tell  them  apart  except  by  their  actions.  He 
of  the  yellow  flower  is  quite  unabashed  when  you  lay 
hold  of  him.  He  holds  up  his  head  in  defiance,  where 
his  little  pink  sister  droops  with  shame.  My  host  did 
not  know  the  name  of  this  bravo,  so  we  christened  him 


236         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

"sin  vergiien::a"  (without  shame).  In  walking  about 
you  continually  encounter  one  or  the  other,  and  you 
cannot  resist  touching  every  one,  to  see  whether  it  is  ver- 
gonzoso,  or  not.  We  learned  later  that  the  unashamed  is 
called  scnsitivo.  I  picked  some  of  each,  and  though  the 
latter  held  out  for  some  time,  he  eventually  curled  up 
as  the  other;  so  he  is  sensitive,  if  not  supersensitive. 
Perhaps  he  is  like  the  male  of  other  species.  If  left 
alone,  he  eventually  becomes  a  tree,  resembling  some- 
what the  pepper  tree.  As  to  vergonzoso,  I  cannot  say. 
I  should  suppose  each  rebuff  scared  her  out  of  fully  a 
year's  growth,  and  that,  in  this  way,  she  would  never 
reach  maturity. 

Two  other  plants,  that  we  did  not  touch,  are  known  as 
mat  homhre  (bad  man)  and  mala  mujcr  (bad  woman). 
They  have  broad,  flat  leaves  and  are  really  nettles. 

One  thing  reminded  me  of  the  North,  even  there. 
It  was  a  beautiful  creeper  with  a  blue  flower  like  our 
morning-glory.  In  the  North,  it  is  carefully  tended  and 
opens  only  for  a  few  hours  in  the  morning.  Here  it 
runs  wild  over  everything,  coffee  plants,  banana  palms, 
fences  and  trees  alike;  leaping  from  one  to  another, 
trailing  in  streamers  and  deep  festoons,  and  flaunting 
its  exquisite  azure  flowers  all  day  long,  and  all  night, 
for  aught  I  know. 

I  am  reminded  to  speak  of  the  birds.  They  are  every- 
where,—  in  cages,  in  the  trees,  in  the  city  and  out  of  it ; 
and  all  sing,  with  full-throated,  flute-like  voices.  I  im- 
agine the  altitude,  less  than  four  thousand  feet,  is  better 
for  vocal  organs  than  a  higher  one.  In  the  mountains, 
at  a  height  of  eight  to  ten  thousand  feet,  there  are  no 
song  birds ;  at  least  where  I  have  been.  There  are  plenty 
of  birds,  but  all  have  harsh,  shrill  cries.     Even  the  cat- 


On  the  Viga  Canal 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         239 

tie  seem  incapable  of  good  hearty  lowing,  but  bleat  feebly 
as  though  they  had  weak  lungs. 

Every  time  I  went  on  the  streets  I  noticed  things 
that  are  different  from  Mexico  City.  The  women  of  the 
serving-class  wear,  many  of  them,  what  I  should  call 
for  lack  of  a  better  name,  a  sort  of  scuff  slipper  which 
protects  the  toes  and  sole  of  the  foot  and  is  only  kept  in 
place  by  scuffing  as  they  walk.  It  is  unusual  to  see  a 
slovenly  house  mozo.  His  clothes  are  all  wash  material 
and  show  that  they  are  frequently  laundered.  The  poor- 
est evidently  possess  at  least  one  change.  As  the  serv- 
ants here  are  more  active,  much  more  seems  to  be  re- 
quired of  them.  Our  table-boy  swept  the  corridor  and 
did  chamber  work  besides ;  and  if  one  of  the  children 
cried  while  he  was  serving  the  table,  he  darted  out  to 
pacify  it.  Some  of  the  Jalapa  milkmen  ride  horses  or 
mules,  and  carry  four  cans  in  straw  pockets,  slung  fore 
and  aft  from  the  saddle.  Pulque,  which  is  brought  from 
up  above,  is  delivered  on  mule-back,  in  bottles  held  in 
two  crates  which  hang  one  on  each  side  of  the  mule,  who 
wears  a  collar  of  bells,  and  seems  proud  of  his  pro- 
fession. The  cargadores  are  a  fine,  sturdy  set,  also 
comparatively  clean,  feet  and  all ;  and  they  bow  to  you 
on  the  slightest  provocation.  They  are  evidently  a  step 
towards  the  Veracruz  cargador,  who  drinks  vino  tinto 
and  banquets  his  cronies.  I  noticed  that  many  peones 
smoked  large,  villainous-looking,  black  cigars.  I  never 
saw  that  but  once  in  Alexico,  and  the  smoker,  I  felt  sure 
from  his  gloomy  eye,  was  away  from  his  own  ticrra. 
The  street  venders  seldom  cry  their  wares.  At  dusk, 
nimble  fellows  in  spotless  white,  trot  about  carrying 
wooden  trays  with  delicious,  shiny  loaves  of  bread;  and 
the  inevitable  dulces  and  peanuts  are  sold  on  the  curb. 


240         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

The  cathedral  is  an  interesting  old  edifice,  with  one 
tower,  generally  rambling  and  picturesque,  and  little 
Moorish,  grated  windows,  scattered  here  and  there,  and 
a  clock  which  is  lighted  at  night.  I  arrived  in  time  for 
mass.  The  church  was  undergoing  repairs,  outside  and 
in,  and  scaffolding  and  ladders  were  everywhere.  The 
workmen  evidently  had  orders  to  keep  working,  no  mat- 
ter what  happened.  Some  six  or  eight  were  busily 
chipping  stone-work  inside,  and  the  racket  quite  drowned 
the  priest's  intoning  and  the  piping  of  the  small  organ. 
The  boys'  voices,  however,  rose  above  the  din,  and 
seemed  unusually  clear  and  sweet.  At  the  elevation  of 
the  Host,  two  wheels,  one  on  each  side  of  the  altar,  all 
hung  with  bells,  were  whirled  rapidly  by  altar  boys, 
and  rang  musically.  I  never  happened  to  see  this  before. 
As  the  mass  proceeded,  the  Indian  workmen  gradually 
stopped  work,  and  stood  reverently  attentive,  all  save 
one  big  fellow,  who  kept  doggedly  at  it,  pounding  away 
with  a  small  sledge-hammer.  The  mass  ended  and  the 
people  went  out,  but  he  seemed  quite  oblivious  to  all 
save  the  work  in  hand.  A  group  of  Italian  laborers  sat 
near  me  and  they  seemed  serious  and  devout,  though 
they  paid  slight  attention  to  the  usual  forms. 

The  city  market  is  a  big,  imposing  structure,  very 
plain,  surrounded  by  broad  corridors  with  fine  arches, 
and  with  an  entrance  on  each  of  its  four  sides,  between 
rows  of  massive  pillars.  The  rotunda  has  a  fountain 
and  stalls,  which  are  not  in  use,  the  display  all  being 
in  the  outer  corridors,  which  are  really  portales  with 
shops  and  restaurants  opening  upon  them.  The  favor- 
ite cafe  which  is  always  crowded  to  the  door,  is  naturally 
la  Jalapena,  which  is  presided  over  by  a  very  pretty 
girl,  with  the  customary  rose  tucked  back  of  the  ear. 
At  one  corner  of  the  market  there  is  a  clump  of  wil- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         241 

lows,  shading  a  stone  fountain  with  a  broad  rim,  just 
right  for  a  seat,  and  there  the  people  are  lolling  morn- 
ing, noon  and  night.  The  night  life  of  Jalapa  is  like 
that  of  Guadalajara,  though  possibly  it  keeps  up  till  a 
later  hour.  Ladies  promenade  in  groups,  both  with  and 
without  escorts ;  and  on  all  sides  you  hear  the  sweet 
salutation,  Adios!  ending  with  the  rising  inflection,  in- 
stead of  dropping  the  voice,  as  in  Mexico.  I  have 
noticed  it  too,  in  the  suburbs  of  the  capital.  Perhaps 
it  means  more  intimate  relations  among  the  residents. 
At  night  the  moon  broke  through  the  clouds  and  favored 
us  for  quite  an  hour.  The  plaza  was  very  animated, 
with  groups  of  pretty  girls  and  caballeros  promenading, 
and  children  romping.  I  think  they  were  playing  ring- 
around-the-rosy  in  Spanish. 

The  Alameda  or  Parque  Hidalgo,  in  the  older  part 
of  town,  is  a  quaint  place,  circular,  and  surrounded  by 
huge  masonry  benches,  fully  eighteen  feet  long,  placed 
at  intervals  of  six  feet  around  the  entire  circle.  Evi- 
dently when  Jalapa  is  en  fiesta  she  has  crowds  to  take 
care  of.  The  place  seemed  like  a  great  amphitheater, 
with  the  trees  sprung  up  inside  and  filling  the  arena. 
I  am  continually  impressed  by  the  remarkable  building 
of  the  old  Spaniards,  from  their  greatest  monuments  to 
their  smallest.  These  old  bench'es  are  massive,  dignified 
and  finely  proportioned. 

I  stayed  a  week  in  Jalapa.  In  the  end,  the  lavish 
profuseness  of  nature  and  the  constant  rains  became 
oppressive.  There  was  too  much  of  everything, — water, 
vegetation,  flowers.  I  found  it  enervating  in  every  way, 
yet  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  leave.  I  sat  outside 
the  hotel  a  long  time,  trying  to  diagnose  the  unsatisfied, 
restless  feeling  that  for  weeks  had  troubled  me.  And 
I  succeeded.     I  was  homesick  for  the  mines, —  for  my 


242         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

good  friends,  Don  Alfredo  and  Dona  Marciana.  I  went 
to  my  room  and  began  preparations  for  departure.  I 
already  felt  better  and  began  to  whistle. 

Before  I  left  Mexico  for  Puebla,  it  had  been  planned 
that  a  friend  who  was  leaving,  a  few  days  later,  for 
Oaxaca,  should  join  me  in  Jalapa;  and  that  on  our 
homeward  journey,  we  should  visit  the  ancient  city  of 
Tlaxcala,  capital  of  the  state  of  the  same  name,  which 
adjoins  the  state  of  Puebla  on  the  north.  I  was  re- 
luctant to  abandon  this  visit,  yet  the  failure  of  my  friend 
to  appear  half-inclined  me  to  do  so.  Then,  too,  the 
thought  of  a  reunion  with  Don  Alfredo  and  Dona 
Marciana  was  now  transcending  all  other  interests.  I 
was  still  in  doubt  when  I  took  the  north-bound  train. 
I  had  always  been  interested  in  Tlaxcala.  History  gives 
it  a  foremost  place  among  the  ancient  Indian  nations,  and 
it  occupies  the  unique  one  of  never  having  yielded  al- 
legiance to  the  great  Montezuma.  Many  and  fierce  were 
the  battles  between  the  heroic  Tlaxcaltecas  and  the 
Mexicanos,  who  wished  to  subdue  them.  The  former 
were  always  victorious,  and  the  little  State  retained  its 
independence,  until  the  coming  of  the  Spaniards.  Tlax- 
cala was  a  republic.  The  people,  generally  supposed  to 
have  belonged,  with  the  Aztecs,  to  the  Nahuatl  family, 
lived  first  on  the  shores  of  Lake  Texcoco;  but  owing 
to  quarrels  with  the  Aztecs  and  other  neighboring  king- 
doms, they  migrated  to  the  region  now  known  as  Tlax- 
cala, which  is  bounded  by  the  states  of  Mexico,  Puebla, 
Hidalgo  and  Veracruz.  There  they  became  a  hardy, 
vigorous  and  independent  people ;  repeatedly  repelling  the 
attacks  of  the  other  tribes,  who  frequently  laid  siege  to 
their   stronghold. 

When  Cortes  reached  the  tableland,  in  his  march  to 
the  capital  of  Montezuma,  he  found  it  desirable  to  pass 


o 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         245 

through  Tlaxcala ;  and  he  sent  messengers  to  the  capital, 
to  ask  the  right  of  way.  He  met  with  a  peremptory  re- 
fusal, but  he  was  determined  to  pass  with  or  without 
permission,  and  the  result  was  a  number  of  bloody  bat- 
tles with  the  Tlaxcaltecas,  in  all  of  which  the  latter  were 
defeated  with  heavy  losses.  A  treaty  of  peace  was  at 
last  effected,  and  the  Spaniards,  as  friends  and  guests  of 
the  people,  entered  the  city  of  Tlaxcala,  which  then  occu- 
pied the  hills  above  the  site  of  the  present  town.  They 
were  met  by  multitudes  at  the  gates  of  the  city,  who 
showered  them  with  flowers  and  adorned  their  horses' 
necks  with  garlands.  One  historian  says  a  hundred 
thousand  people  came  out  to  meet  them ;  and  Cortes 
himself,  in  a  letter  to  the  emperor,  compared  the  city 
with  Granada,  afifirming  that  it  was  larger  and  more 
populous.  It  was  divided  into  four  quarters,  separated 
one  from  the  other  by  high  stone  walls,  and  governed 
respectively,  each  by  its  own  chief  or  sehor.  The  four 
chiefs  were  Alaxixcatzin,  Xicotencatl  (the  elder), 
Tlehuexolotzin  and  Citlalpopocatzin,  and  their  names  are 
inscribed  on  a  tablet  in  the  olji  convent  as  the  first 
Tlaxcaltecas  to  receive  Christian  baptism.  From  that 
time  until  the  conquest  was  completed,  the  Tlaxcaltecas 
were  the  faithful  friends  and  allies  of  the  Spaniards,  to- 
gether with  the  Cempoallans  or  Totonaca,  the  friendly 
Indians  of  Veracruz,  who  had  aided  Cortes  in  van- 
quishing those  of  Tlaxcala. 

After  the  massacre  of  Cholula,  when  Cortes  resumed 
his  march  to  Mexico,  and  the  Cempoallans  abandoned 
him,  fearful  to  trust  themselves  within  the  domains  of 
Montezuma,  the  brave  Tlaxcaltecas  were  steadfast  and 
accompanied  him  to  the  Aztec  capital.  They  shared  with 
the  Spaniards  the  horrors  of  the  Noche  Triste  and  all 
the  hardships  of  that  disastrous  retreat;  and  far  from 


246         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

blaming  them  as  the  cause  of  their  misfortunes,  were 
stancher  than  ever  in  their  devotion.  They  shared,  too, 
in  the  victorious  battle  of  Otumba,  afterwards  guiding 
the  Spaniards  back  to  Tlaxcala,  where  they  were  given 
a  warm  welcome  and  found  friends  to  nurse  them  and 
heal  their  wounds ;  the  chiefs  assuring  them  that  they 
and  their  people  were  their  faithful  allies  till  death. 
It  was  in  Tlaxcala  that  thirteen  brigantines  were  built 
under  Martin  Lopez,  with  the  ready  aid  of  Indian  work- 
men ;  and  these  ships  were  carried  over  the  mountains, 
piecemeal,  on  the  backs  of  Indians,  to  the  lake  of  Tex- 
coco.  The  journey  took  four  days  and  the  escort  was 
composed  of  twenty  thousand  Tlaxcalan  warriors.  In 
the  final  siege  of  the  Aztec  capital,  the  Tlaxcaltecas  were 
the  main  support  of  Cortes ;  and  a  Tlaxcalan  chief  helped 
rescue  the  conqueror,  when  his  horse  was  killed  under 
him,  and  he  was  about  to  be  carried  off  a  prisoner. 
How  any  one  could  ever  question  the  fidelity  of  the 
Indian  as  a  friend,  after  these  events,  which  are  his- 
torical,  I    cannot    understand. 

When  I  reached  Puebla,  it  was  raining:  in  fact  I  had 
seen  little  else  but  rain  for  a  week  past.  Whom  should 
I  run  across  in  Puebla,  but  my  friend  Don  Miguel,  whom 
I  had  expected  to  meet  at  Jalapa  but  who  had  been 
held  up  five  days  by  washouts  down  Oaxaca  way.  As 
I  have  said,  our  plans  had  included  a  trip  to  Tlaxcala, 
but  I  had  given  that  up,  being  tired  of  prowling  about 
alone.  It  is  well  enough  in  bright  weather,  but  on  rainy 
days  I  want  a  human  companion. 

"Shall  we  not  go  to  Tlaxcala?"  Don  Miguel  asked, 
after  making  it  clear  that  cl  agiia  (the  water)  and  not 
he  was  to  blame  for  our  tardy  meeting.  At  the  magic 
name  "  Tlaxcala "  the  day  brightened  visibly.  My 
"Why  not?"  had  such  a  takcn-for-granted  sound,  I  be- 


THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO         247 

gan  to  believe  I  had  never  really  given  up  going.  Our 
train  left  at  7:30  the  follow^ing  morning,  and  the  day 
was  gloomy  enough,  with  rain  imminent;  but  with  a 
good  companion,  I  forgot  the  weather.  We  had  coffee 
at  the  station  where  the  Chinese  boys  spoke  neither 
English  nor  Spanish,  a  thing  I  often  notice  in  the 
Mongolian  in  Mexico.  These  Chinese  eating-houses  in- 
variably have  good,  hot  soda-biscuit  and  the  vilest  cof- 
fee, with  a  strong  savor  of  the  ubiquitous  cockroach. 
The  ride  from  Puebla  to  Santa  Ana  Chiautempan, 
where  we  left  the  train  for  the  street  car,  takes  about  an 
hour.  I  always  feel,  when  I  leave  the  railroad,  I  am 
getting  closer  to  old  Mexico.  Railroads  are  fine  things 
to  take  you  comfortably  near  any  given  shrine,  but  for 
the  last  ten  or  twenty  miles,  give  me  a  diligencia  or  at 
least  a  street  car.  At  San  Pablo  Apetatitlan,  a  little 
pueblo  we  passed  through,  all  was  delightfully  primitive ; 
and  in  the  quaint  church,  evidently  very  old,  the  bell  was 
tolling  mournfully,  announcing  a  recent  death  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  calling  on  the  living  to  pray  for  the  soul  of 
the  dead.  The  tolling  is  called  dohlando,  and  my  com- 
panion admitted  that  while  he  knew  it  was  practised  of 
old,  he  had  never  heard  it  before.  The  bell  was  also 
tolled  formerly  when  death  was  at  hand.  Agonias  it 
was  called,  and  it  supplicated  prayers  for  the  dying. 
Both  impressed  me  as  solemn  and  beautiful. 

As  we  left  San  Pablo,  we  caught  a  momentary  glimpse 
of  two  beautiful  towers,  that  just  showed  above  the 
hills  between  us  and  Tlaxcala.  A  young  charro  said 
the  church  was  El  Santuario  de  Ocotlan,  so-called  from 
the  api)earance  of  the  Virgin  in  a  pine  tree ;  from  which 
the  ocote  (pitch-pine)  is  taken.  We  lost  sight  of  them 
immediately,  but  this  only  added  to  our  anticipation. 
The  delight  in  approaching  a  town  for  the  first  time. 


248         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

in  this  land  where  all  towns  have  something  of  the 
picturesque  and  beautiful,  is  indescribable.  Before  we 
entered  Tlaxcala,  we  passed  innumerable  abandoned 
houses  of  adobe  fast  going  to  ruin,  which  evidently 
once  constituted  an  extensive  suburban  district.  On 
reaching  the  town  itself,  we  inquired  for  the  best  hotel, 
and  were  told  there  was  but  one,  which  simplified  mat- 
ters. My  friend  had  assured  me  that  we  should  call  on 
Governor  Cahuantzi,  of  whom  I  had  heard  much  and 
whom  I  was  anxious  to  meet.  I  reminded  him  that  we 
had  brought  no  letters,  but  he  said  that  made  no  differ- 
ence. "  I  am  a  Mexican,"  he  said,  "  and  you  are  a  jour- 
nalist. It  is  but  right  that  we  should  pay  our  respects  to 
the  Governor."  Almost  immediately  on  our  arrival, 
however,  he  encountered  a  good  friend  in  an  old  resident 
of  the  town,  and  this  gentleman  offered  to  present  us. 
We  went  at  once  to  the  palace,  where  he  made  an  ap- 
pointment for  us  to  meet  the  Governor,  and  we  then 
set  out  to  see  the  city. 

The  palace  is  very  large  and  very  old,  dating  from 
the  sixteenth  century.  Its  dilapidated  state  had  made 
repairs  necessary,  but  thus  far  they  had  been  unob- 
trusive. The  exterior  had  been  replastered  and  left 
in  the  natural  color  with  no  attempt  at  ornament,  leav- 
ing the  beautiful  stone  carving  about  the  entrances,  as 
it  was  left  by  the  Spaniards.  Inside,  native  workmen 
were  frescoing  the  main  hall  after  a  quaint  Indian 
fashion,  with  warriors  in  battle  array,  and  the  ancient 
deities  of  the  nations ;  the  effect  being  singularly  pleas- 
ing. I  wish  more  of  the  early  life  of  the  country  might 
be  embodied  in  modern  decoration.  Innumerable  charm- 
ing legends  afford  themes  for  series  of  wall-panels,  that 
would  make  a  theater  or  other  public  edifice  wonderfully 
interesting. 


Tower  and  cypress-trees 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         251 

Tlaxcala's  plaza  is  large  and  shaded  by  magnificent 
trees,  with  a  pi-ofusion  of  the  shrub  known  as  huele  de 
noche,  which,  as  the  name  suggests,  is  fragrant  at  night. 
It  bears  fine,  white  flowers,  and  either  by  special  dis- 
pensation, or  on  account  of  the  rain  which  was  already 
falling,  it  filled  the  air,  though  it  was  barely  midday, 
with  a  strong,  sweet  aroma  like  magnolias.  The  parterres 
were  all  outlined  by  borders  of  black  and  white  peb- 
bles, worked  into  ornamental  designs,  both  Grecian  and 
Indian  figures  appearing.  The  walks  were  well  kept, 
and  the  whole  town  impressed  me  as  clean. 

The  first  church  we  entered  was  that  of  the  old  con- 
vent of  San  Francisco.  The  ancient  pile,  largely  in  ruins, 
is  on  a  low  hill  a  little  above  the  town.  The  buildings 
may  well  be  called  antiqnisimos,  as  they  were  constructed 
shortly  after  the  conquest,  on  the  site  of  an  Indian 
temple.  Some  of  the  walls  of  this  temple  still  survive. 
An  immense  gateway  leads  into  the  convent  inclosure. 
The  bell  tower  stands  alone,  separated  from  the  build- 
ings, and  some  ominous  crevices  in  the  masonry  suggest 
a  general  collapse  at  no  distant  day.  A  portion  of  the 
convent  now  serves  as  a  cuartel  and  prison ;  but  the 
church  is  preserved,  being  sustained  by  private  subscrip- 
tion. The  altars  are  very  rich,  though  the  carving  is 
not  so  fine  as  in  many  of  the  old  churches,  and  the 
paintings  are  dim  with  age  and  extremely  interesting. 
I  was  impressed  by  the  first  one  at  the  left  on  enter- 
ing. It  is  entitled  "  Nuestra  Sehora  de  la  Antigua." 
The  Virgin  and  Child  are  in  dark  blue  robes,  covered 
with  a  small  design  in  gold.  The  Virgin,  whose  face 
is  very  beautiful  and  dignified,  holds  a  lily  in  her  right 
hand;  and  two  angels  support  a  crown  above  her.  In 
one  of  the  chapels  is  the  figure  of  the  good  San  Benito 
de  Palermo,  ebony  black  and  richly  adorned.     And  this 


252         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

reminds  me  that  in  some  of  the  oldest,  most  isolated 
temples,  I  have  seen  images  of  the  Christ,  which  if  not 
black,  were  nearly  so.  A  dark  nut-brown  comes  nearer 
the  color,  perhaps.  I  remember  one  most  remarkable, 
that  had  long  black  hair  that  hung  below  the  middle  of 
the  figure.  The  most  precious  relics  in  San  Francisco, 
however,  are  the  first  pulpit  from  which  the  Christian 
religion  was  preached  in  Mexico,  and  the  font  at  which 
the  four  governors  of  the  Indian  republic  were  bap- 
tized. Both  pulpit  and  font  are  of  stone.  Above  the 
latter  is  a  tablet,  with  the  following  inscription: 

"En  esta  fiiente  recihicron  la  fe  Catolica  los  cuatro 
senadores  de  la  antigua  Repuhlica  de  Tlaxcala.  El  acta 
rcligioso  tuvo  lugar  el  ano  1520,  siendo  ministro  Don 
Juan  Diaz,  Capellan  del  ejercito  conquistador;  y  padri- 
nos,  el  capitan,  Don  Hernan  Cortes  y  sus  distingnidos 
oHcialcs,  Don  Pedro  de  Alvarado,  Don  Andres  de  Tapia, 
Don  Gonzalo  de  Sandoval,  y  Don  Cristobal  de  Olid. 

"A  Maxixcatdn,  se  le  did  el  nomhre  de  Lorenzo,  y  d 
Xicohtencatl  se  le  did  el  nombre  de  Vicente,  y  a  Cla- 
hiisiolochi  el  de  Gonzalo,  y  a  Ziclapopocal  cl  de  Barto- 
lonie." 

"  At  this  font  received  the  Catholic  faith  the  four 
senators  of  the  ancient  Tlaxcalan  republic.  The  reli- 
gious act  took  place  the  year  1520,  the  minister  being 
Don  Juan  Diaz,  chaplain  of  the  conquering  army,  and  the 
god-fathers,  the  captain,  Don  Hernan  Cortes  and  his 
distinguished  officers,  Don  Pedro  de  Alvarado,  Don 
Andres  de  Tapia,  Don  Gonzalo  de  Sandoval,  and  Don 
Cristobal  de  Olid. 

"  To  Maxixcatzin  was  given  the  name  Lorenzo,  and  to 
Xicohtencatl    was    given    the    name    Vincente,    and    to 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         253 

Clahuziolochi  that  of  Gonzalo,  and  to  Ziclapopocal  that 
of   Bartolome," 

There  seems  a  great  difference  in  the  spelHng  of 
Indian  names  by  various  writers.  These  are  copied  as 
they  are  inscribed  on  the  tablet. 

Before  leaving  this  old  church  of  San  Francisco,  I 
must  speak  of  the  wonderful  arrangement  of  cedar  cross- 
beams or  girders,  fashioned  in  a  most  beautiful  and 
decorative  way,  and  resisting  the  wear  of  more  than 
three  centuries. 

From  San  Francisco,  we  went  directly  to  the  palace. 
We  were  conducted  through  a  long  suite  of  apartments 
and  came  finally  to  a  handsomely  furnished  salon,  which 
the  Governor  entered  to  receive  us.  Colonel  Prospero 
Cahuantzi,  Governor  of  Tlaxcala,  claimed  with  pride 
that  he  was  a  direct  descendant  of  the  brave  Tlaxcalteca 
race.  Despite  the  fact  that  his  sixty-seventh  birthday 
was  close  at  hand,  he  was  apparently  in  the  prime  of 
life,  showing  the  old  time  virility  of  his  people.  He 
gave  us  a  cordial  welcome,  and  my  friend  at  once  told 
him  who  we  were,  and  what  the  object  of  our  visit.  At 
first  the  Governor  spoke  rather  deprecatingly  of  Tlaxcala, 
saying  it  was  little  more  than  a  rancho ;  but  on  finding 
that  we  were  interested  in  the  state  and  its  history,  he 
talked  delightfully  about  it.  His  memory  was  remark- 
able and  he  had  historical  dates  at  his  fingers'  ends.  He 
indicated  where  the  ancient  city  had  stood,  and  assured 
us  that  a  portion  of  San  Francisco's  walls  was  really 
that  of  a  Tlaxcalan  temple.  In  connection  with  the 
first  baptismal  rites,  he  said  that  Otila,  the  daughter  of 
Maxixcatzin,  was  actually  baptized  before  the  chiefs. 
This  maiden  had  for  a  lover  none  other  than  the  noble 
Cuauhtemoc.  As  Governor  Cahuantzi  expressed  it,  she 
was  "  Cuauhtemoc's  novia."     She  was  beautiful,  and  the 


254         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

ardent  young  Velasquez  de  Leon  fell  in  love  with  her  at 
sight.  "  Neither  knew  a  single  word  of  the  language  of 
the  other,"  said  the  governor,  "  nevertheless  he  began 
making  her  flowery  speeches."  The  damsel's  heart  was 
won  by  the  gallant  young  officer,  and  the  latter  lost  no 
time  in  requesting  Padre  Olmeda  to- marry  them. 

"But,  my  son,"  said  the  padre,  "it  is  impossible! 
You  and  this  girl  are  of  different  races :  you  have  not 
the  same  language:  she  is  not  even  a  Christian.  Im- 
possible !  " 

"  Baptize  her  then  and  make  her  one !  "  said  the  fiery 
Velasquez  de  Leon.     "  Marry  her  I  will !  " 

The  idea  of  baptism  was  not  unpleasant  to  the  padre. 
Cortes  was  consulted  and  readily  acceded.  The  troops 
were  called  out,  there  was  a  grand  parade  with  martial 
salutes  and  music,  and  Otila  was  received  into  the  Chris- 
tian church  with  the  new  name  Estefania,  and  sealed  to 
Velasquez  de  Leon  as  his  lawful  wife. 

Now  comes  the  tragedy.  On  the  Noche  Triste,  during 
that  awful  fight  on  the  causeway  of  Tacuba,  Cuauhtemoc, 
the  betrayed  lover,  killed  Velasquez  de  Leon  with  his 
own  hand. 

Governor  Cahuantzi  spoke  fluently  of  the  ancient 
language  of  Tlaxcala,  which  was  the  Mexicana.  At  a 
recent  celebration  of  the  anniversary  of  Cuauhtemoc,  he 
delivered  an  address  in  the  Mexican  tongue.  We  had  a 
very  interesting  half  hour,  and  then  bade  him  good-by 
reluctantly. 

We  had  dinner  at  the  restaurant  under  the  portales 
with  a  small,  active  boy  for  waiter.  Dinner  over,  we  set 
out  on  a  pilgrimage  to  el  Santuario,  whose  towers  we 
saw  in  approaching  the  town,  and  which  stands  on  the 
hill  above  it.  It  is  a  beautiful  church,  snow  white,  with 
extremely  graceful   towers   and   ornate    fagade.     I   was 


Ixtacaluu 


Churchyard  gateway 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         257 

disappointed  to  find  the  base  of  the  ornament  only  was 
stone,  with  an  application  of  something  like  staff  to 
finish  it.  The  image  of  the  Virgin  at  the  main  altar  is 
said  to  be  very  miraculous  and  the  sacristy  is  lined  with 
a  series  of  elaborate  paintings  that  impressed  me 
slightly.  We  heard,  later,  that  the  best  pictures  were 
in  another  chapel,  which  we  did  not  know  existed,  it  be- 
ing  directly   behind   the   main   altar. 

Tlaxcala  has  a  museum,  with  a  fine  collection  of  idols 
and  ancient  relics  of  the  Christian  church.  Among  the 
latter  are  some  splendid  old  chairs  and  vestments  heavy 
with  gold  embroidery.  An  interesting  exhibit  are  bow 
and  arrows,  with  flint  tips,  said  to  be  originals.  We 
spent  the  rainy  afternoon  at  the  museum,  and  bade  fare- 
well to  Tlaxcala  in  that  gloomy  half-light,  well  suited  to 
conjuring  up  phantom  cities  and  armies.  I  had  satu- 
rated myself  with  Tlaxcalan  history;  the  little  town  it- 
self (it  has  only  about  three  thousand  souls)  bore  the 
stamp  of  antiquity,  and  on  the  long  dark  ride  to  the 
railroad,  the  deeds  of  the  old  conquerors  and  their  allies, 
los  Tlaxcaltecas,  seemed  very  real  and  near. 


CHAPTER  X 

The  Fiesta  of  Covadonga :  Gaiety  of  the  Spaniard:  His 
Mexican  Cousin  Helps  Him  Celebrate:  Epifanio's  Tip:  His 
Version  of  the  Spanish  Conquest:  The  Eve  of  Mexican  In- 
dependence: Quaint  Folk  Songs:  Dancing  in  the  Streets: 
Viva  Mexico. 


o 


N  my  arrival  in  Mexico  City  I  was  pleased  to 

find  there  my  young  friend,  Rafael  de  la  G , 

who  had  just  returned  from  taking  his  post- 
graduate in  Columbia  University.  I  had  always  found 
his  conversation  interesting;  and  now  he  came,  eager 
to  tell  me  his  impressions  of  my  country,  while  I  too 
had  many  pleasant  things  to  relate  about  my  life  in 
Mexico.  I  also  told  him  of  my  resolve  to  shortly  under- 
take the  journey  into  the  Durango  mountains  to  rejoin 
my  friends  in  the  mines.  He  heard  my  plans  with  the 
attentiveness  that  I  always  remarked  in  my  Mexican 
friends;  and  while  he  sympathized  with  my  state  of 
mind,  he  advised  me  to  remain  a  few  weeks  longer  in  the 
capital,  if  only  to  attend  the  Fiesta  of  Covadonga,  which 
is  annually  celebrated  by  the  Spanish  Colony,  and  is  es- 
sentially Spanish  in  character.  To  this  proposal  I  gladly 
assented.  The  Spaniards  in  Mexico  interested  me  ex- 
ceedingly, although  until  now  I  had  been  impressed  solely 
by  their  indefatigability  in  work  and  in  business.  Rafael 
assured  me  that  the  Spaniards  entered  into  this  Cova- 
donga celebration,  the  only  one  they  permitted  themselves 
in  a  foreign  land,  with  the  same  prodigious  energy  that 
characterized   their  business ;   and  that   it   was   the  one 

258 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         259 

opportunity  I  should  find  in  Mexico  to  appreciate  the 
Spanish  character.  Further,  he  placed  himself  at  my 
disposal  on  the  day  of  the  fiesta,  promising  to  meet  me 
in  the  early  forenoon,  and  to  see  that  I  missed  nothing 
from  the  beginning  of  the  celebration. 

The  Fiesta  of  Covadonga  fell  early  the  following 
week.  Rafael  and  I  met,  as  agreed,  and  proceeded  to 
the  old  church  of  Santo  Domingo,  in  the  plaza  of  that 
name,  where  it  is  believed  the  Aztecs  first  saw  the  prom- 
ised sign  of  the  eagle  perched  on  the  cactus,  with  the 
serpent  in  his  talons.  The  church  was  richly  hung  with 
red  and  gold.  High  mass  was  celebrated,  and  for  the 
first  time  I  heard  the  Spanish  national  air.  From  Santo 
Domingo,  we  went  direct  to  the  Tivoli  Eliseo. 

I  had  attended  other  fiestas  at  the  Tivoli  Eliseo,  occa- 
sions of  discreet  gaiety.  People  wore  their  best  clothes, 
promenaded,  showered  each  other  with  confetti,  and 
waltzed  a  little  in  the  pavilion.  It  was  pretty  but  tire- 
some. Confetti-throwing  is  charming  in  theory  but 
quite  inane  as  a  diversion.  I  had  feared  that  sponta- 
neous mirth,  free  and  unrestrained,  was  over,  at  least 
where  "  grown-ups "  were  concerned.  Then  kind  fate 
sent  me  to  the  Fiesta  of  Covadonga.  There  was  little 
confetti-throwing.  The  Spaniard  had  come  to  dance. 
He  had  worked  early  and  late  for  three  hundred  and 
sixty-four  days,  busily  gathering  pesetas  in  his  adopted 
country.  It  may  be  doubted  if  he  thought  much  of 
Espana.  Early  rising  and  the  rush  of  trade  are  not 
conducive  to  reminiscence.  But  on  the  three  hundred 
and  sixty-fifth  day  he  closes  his  shop  and  attends  high 
mass  at  Santo  Domingo.  Then  he  puts  on  his  rakish 
boina,  takes  a  cup  of  cider  with  his  cronies,  and  proceeds 
to  dance  with  a  gusto  that  is  a  revelation.  I  have  always 
heard   that   the    Spaniards   and    Irish   are   related.     No 


26o         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

other  people,  except  the  sons  of  Erin,  possess  such  an 
irrepressible  flow  of  spirits.  Indeed  I  saw  many  a  smil- 
ing, good-natured  face  that  might  have  hailed  from  the 
Emerald  Isle.  The  favorite  dance  was  the  jota,  per- 
formed by  a  lad  and  his  novia  or  by  two  men,  to  the 
time  of  a  quick  waltz,  and  accompanied  by  castanets  or 
the  snapping  of  fingers.  There  was  an  abundance  of 
music  but  even  music  was  not  indispensable.  If  a  young 
Gachupin  (Spaniard)  and  his  chum  felt  like  dancing 
between  the  numbers,  they  snapped  their  fingers  merrily, 
and  danced,  without  music.  They  seemed  totally  in- 
dififerent  to  observation.  They  danced  because  they 
enjoyed  it  and  there  was  an  end  of  it. 

There  were  three  military  bands,  several  orchestras  of 
stringed  instruments  and  innumerable  pipes,  drums, 
mandolins  and  guitars.  The  local  Mexican  bands  each 
formed  a  circle,  with  the  maestro  in  the  center  sur- 
rounded by  dancers.  Among  them  was  the  famous 
"  Artilleria,"  which  has  won  fame  in  the  United  States. 
This  band  had  just  finished  a  piece,  and  the  breathless 
dancers  were  rapturously  shouting  for  "  otra,"  (an- 
other). In  response  they  played  a  delightful  waltz  com- 
posed by  one  of  their  own  number,  with  a  refrain  sung 
by  the  musicians : 

Viva  Espana  valcrosa, 

Cuna  de  grandes  procsas! 
Viva  Andalucia  faniosa. 

For  siis  valicntcs  bcl!c::as! 

Long  live  brave  Spain, 

Cradle  of  heroic  deeds! 
And  Andalucia, — 

Famed  for  her  valorous  beauty ! 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         261 

Then  the  players  shouted,  "  Ole  !  Viva  Espafia !  "  The 
dancers  responded  "  Viva !  Ole  con  Ole  !  "  and  danced 
more  furiously.  In  the  ring  a  charming  child  of  nine 
or  ten  years  danced  with  a  boy  somewhat  older.  There 
were  several  couples  of  young  men  and  one  who  played 
a  pandcrctc  or  tambourine,  with  more  skill  than  I  have 
often  seen  on  the  minstrel  stage,  striking  it  with  his 
elbow,  head  and  heels  almost  simultaneously.  Then  he 
leaped  into  the  midst  of  the  circle  and  performed  a  wild 
dance  that  I  never  saw  equaled  for  skill  and  grace.  The 
lightest,  most  tireless  dancers  were  the  Aragonese.  The 
Basques  were  a  good  second,  and  perhaps  quite  as  in- 
defatigable as  the  first,  but  less  graceful.  The  men 
from  different  provinces  could  be  distinguished  by  their 
dialects,  Gallegan,  Basque,  Andalucian,  Catalan, —  or  by 
some  peculiarity  of  costume.  All  danced.  One  moment 
a  group  would  be  in  full  fling  to  the  music  of  the  pipes ; 
the  next,  a  band  had  struck  up  an  inspiring  jota  in  some 
other  part  of  the  grounds  and  they  were  off  like  a  shot. 
The  head  man  picks  a  place  and  shouts,  "  Aqui  bail- 
amos ! "  (We  dance  here!).  He  faces  his  partner  and 
rattles  his  castanets.  A  space  is  cleared,  and  they  are 
at  it  again,  with  all  their  might.  As  a  rule  they  danced 
in  couples,  but  one  lad,  who  was  the  center  of  all  eyes 
wherever  he  went,  danced  alone.  He  had  a  bright,  jolly 
expression  and  wore  a  pongee  blouse  and  dark  blue  boina. 
The  minute  the  music  ceased  in  one  place,  he  darted  away 
to  another.  I  finally  surprised  him  taking  breath  and 
praised  his  dancing,  asking  where  he  haled  from.  He 
replied  from  Asturia ;  that  he  had  been  all  over  Spain 
and  Mexico  and  on  the  following  day  was  off  for  los 
Estados  Unidos.  Meantime  he  was  celebrating  his  feast- 
day  having  a  good  time.  He  was  a  handsome  lad,  not 
over  sixteen,  with  an  engaging  smile  and  a  dash  of  reck- 


262         THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO 

lessness  that  betrayed  the  adventurous  spirit  of  the 
Spaniard.  He  was  mopping  his  brow,  when  of  a  sudden 
a  band  began  playing.  "  La  jota ! "  he  shouted  and 
started  off  at  a  run.  I  did  not  see  him  again,  but  I 
fancied  he  would  not  lack  friends  among  the  Americanos. 
As  I  addressed  a  remark  in  Spanish  to  Rafael,  a  hoarse 
voice  close  at  my  ear  said,  "  All  right ! "  It  was  a 
youthful  Gachupin,  who  knew  the  Saxon  twang,  and  was 
anxious  to  exhibit  his  own  efficiency  in  English.  He 
showed  his  delight  at  attracting  my  attention  in  a  broad 
yet  rather  sheepish  grin  that  made  me  laugh  too.  It 
was  now  growing  dark  and  things  were  becoming 
livelier.  Strings  of  brilliant  lanterns  were  festooned 
from  tree  to  tree  and  the  white  glare  of  the  electric 
light  fell  in  patches  throughout  the  garden.  What  is 
there  in  the  night  that  makes  gaiety  still  gayer?  It 
seemed  the  revelers  had  been  peculiarly  fit  from  the 
start;  but  now,  if  such  a  thing  were  possible,  they  be- 
came fitter.  Perhaps  sidra  helped  out  more  or  less.  It 
is  a  mildly  fizzing  beverage  that  I  should  call  cham- 
pagne-cider ;  and  much  less  heady  than  the  old  time  New 
England  brew  designated  as  "  hard."  Musicians  and 
dancers  alike  seemed  to  have  got  their  second  wind  and 
the  scene  became  more  and  more  animated.  It  was  stir- 
ring —  contagious !  Here  a  couple  danced  beneath  the 
trees,  first  in  light,  then  in  shadow.  There  a  merry 
group  whirled  in  the  blaze  of  the  arc-light.  Now  a  crowd 
of  breathless  lads  appeared  in  search  of  a  new  field. 
"  Aqui  bailamos ! "  and  they  were  at  it  again.  Wild 
applause  came  from  the  direction  of  the  "  banda  de 
Artilleria  "  and  we  hurried  to  see  what  was  up.  It  was 
the  prettiest  sight  I  had  seen  that  day.  A  slip  of  a  girl, 
in  a  clinging  dress  of  some  shimmering  'material  —  elec- 
tric blue,  I  should  say  —  with  a  long  sash  of  crimson,  a 


0)      J, 

o  -5 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         265 

dark  tam-o'-shanter  tilted  coquettishly  over  one  ear,  with 
her  hair  blown  in  ringlets  that  kept  getting  into  her 
eyes  and  with  a  smile  that  got  into  the  eyes  of  others, 
was  dancing  the  jota  with  her  novio.  All  I  can  tell 
about  him  is  that  he  was  dancing  too.  She  was  straight 
and  slender  as  a  reed  and  much  more  graceful.  Her  face 
was  delicate  and  thoroughbred,  with  that  alluring  beauty, 
sometimes  called  la  heiite  de  Viable.  Around  her  neck 
was  a  long  string  of  crystal  beads  that  had  the  effect  of 
brilliants,  with  a  tiny  crimson  fan  dangling  at  the  end. 
Her  little  high-heeled  shoes  were  just  visible  as  she 
danced.  No  wonder  we  applauded  and  cried,  "  Otra." 
The  bandmaster  made  her  a  bow  and  a  gallant  speech. 
She  flashed  him  a  dazzling  smile  and  the  next  moment 
he  was  back  at  his  post  with  lifted  baton.  The  music 
began  and  we  had  the  dance  over  again.  Then  the 
novio  led  her  away  and  the  arc-light  could  not  dissipate 
the  gloom  that  settled  upon  us.  She  was  our  bright, 
particular  star  and  we  had  lost  her !  All  else  seemed 
dross !  Until  we  saw  the  Sevillana !  She  had  the 
classic  profile,  the  dark  tresses,  the  glorious  eyes  of  the 
Andalusian,  and  she  wore  the  bewitching  headdress  of 
creamy  lace,  fastened  with  a  blood-red  rose.  She  danced, 
too,  with  a  man.  She  made  me  think  of  the  lines  which 
I  quoted,  however  imperfectly,  for  Rafael :  — 

When  you  do  dance  — 
I  wish  you  a  wave  of  the  sea, 
That  you  ever  might  do  nothing  but  this. 

It  is  fortunate  that  it  is  permissible  to  admire  openly 
in  Latin  countries.  If  it  were  not,  life  in  Mexico  would 
not  be  worth  living. 

There  was  one  clique  composed  entirely  of  Andalusians, 
and  it  was   surrounded  by  an   appreciative   circle  that 


266         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

kept  increasing,  as  the  night  wore  on.  There  was  a 
man  who  played  the  guitar  magnificently,  a  handsome 
Git  ana  who  sang  the  songs  of  Andalusia,  and  a  second 
man  who  also  sang,  in  the  strangest,  wheezing,  rasping 
voice  I  ever  heard,  but  as  my  friends  expressed  it  con 
miicha  gracia.  Of  all  the  quaint,  weird  songs,  these 
were  the  quaintest  and  weirdest.  In  one,  the  man  sang, 
"The  dead-cart  just  passed  by  —  and  there,  above  the 
shroud,  I  saw  a  hand  I  knew."  And  the  woman,  sing- 
ing to  her  man,  "  A  life  with  thee  is  torture  —  Without 
thee,  'tis  not  life !  "  The  people  applauded  rapturously. 
The  songs  were  half-crooned,  half-whined  in  a  complain- 
iiigj  yet  not  unmusical  tone,  and  brought  a  dim,  evanes- 
cent impression  of  ways  of  living  and  thinking,  unknown 
but  fascinating.  There  was  also  a  torero,  who  did  a 
grotesque  dance,  going  through  remarkable  contortions 
and  making  hideous  grimaces.  Taken  in  connection 
with  the  melancholy  music,  the  night,  the  gaunt  shadows 
cast  by  the  trees  and  the  circle  of  swarthy  faces,  the  per- 
formance was  gruesome  and  made  one  wonder  where 
he  really  was.  It  created  a  burning  desire  to  go  to 
Andalusia. 

Moreno  pinian  a  Crista: 
M arena  a  la  Magdalcna: 
Moreno  es  el  bien  que  yo  adoro: 
Viva  la  gente  morena. 

A  man  sang  this  verse,  leaning  against  a  tree  and  gaily 
strumming  a  guitar.  It  was  a  tribute  to  the  brunette 
or  swarthy  type.  The  substance  of  his  ditty  was  that 
both  Christ  and  the  Magdalen  were  pictured  as  morcnos 
(brunes)  :  that  it  was  the  tyj^e  he  most  adored,  ending 
with  "  Viva  the  brown  i)eople!  "  Another  refrain  went: 
"Morena  —  Morena  —  Morena  —  ti'i     quitas    los     rayos 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         269 

del  sol!"  In  other  words,  beauteous  "  morena "  dims 
the  rays  of  the  sun. 

All  the  beauty  was  not  Andalusian.  The  eyes  of  the 
Mexican  women  are  luminous  as  the  Spanish,  languid 
as  the  Oriental,  with  the  added  charm  of  tristeza,  which, 
while  purely  hereditary  and  not  indicative  of  character,  is 
always  interesting.  On  this  occasion,  las  Mexicanas  and 
their  escorts  contented  themselves  with  promenading, 
waltzing  or  watching  the  antics  of  their  livelier  Spanish 
cousins,  from  the  veranda  of  the  casino.  I  presumed  the 
Mexican  youth  was  saving  his  strength  and  his  lungs  for 
"  Viva  Mexico !  "  on  the  night  of  the  wildly  inspiring 
"  grito"  (cry)  of  independence. 

One  of  the  funniest  experiences  of  the  night  was  a 
talk  with  two  members  of  the  "  Artilleria."  At  the  close 
of  a  number,  one  of  the  players  turned  to  me  of  his  own 
accord,  showed  me  the  music,  which  contained  the  lines 
to  Espaiia  and  Andalusia,  and  told  me  the  piece  was 
written  by  a  young  comrade.  I  construed  it  as  a  simple 
act  of  Mexican  politeness,  which  I  had  come  to  accept 
as  a  matter  of  course ;  but  I  soon  found  that  he  knew 
my  country.  Another  bright  chap  joined  us,  telling  me 
they  had  played  in  Atlanta,  St.  Louis  and  Omaha  and 
I^reserved  pleasant  memories  of  all.  They  liked  Ameri- 
can ways,  and  American  girls  were  superlatively  beauti- 
ful. The  one  failing  of  the  latter  seemed  to  be  an 
inordinate  desire  for  gold  buttons,  and  the  younger  lad, 
who  was  a  handsome  fellow,  said  he  should  take  an  extra 
gross  on  his  next  visit.  I  asked  the  boy  if  he  knew 
any  English.  After  a  modest  disavowal,  he  finally  ad- 
mitted that  sometimes,  on  bestowing  buttons,  he  had 
conversed  a  little.  It  was  hard  work  to  make  him  tell 
what  he  said,  but  he  finally  imparted  it  in  strictest  con- 
fidence, which  I  am  basely  betraying.     It  was  "  Miss, 


270         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

give  me  one  kiss,  please?"  with  the  rising  inflection  on 
the  "  please." 

As  we  strolled  around  for  a  last  look  at  the  Andalusian 
clique,  whose  fascination  there  was  no  resisting,  I  met  a 
Mexican  friend  who  exclaimed  enthusiastically,  "  There 
is  a  country-woman  of  yours  who  is  most  beautiful," 
raising  his  hand  to  his  lips  in  the  manner  of  the  country. 
He  then  took  my  arm  and  led  me  off  to  see  her.  When 
we  found  her  she  was  standing  on  a  chair,  a  vision  of 
white,  with  a  bunch  of  crimson  roses  at  her  throat, 
her  fair  young  face  flushed  with  excitement,  as  she 
looked  on  the  strange  scene.  The  funny  bull-fighter 
was  dancing  again.  He  had  pulled  his  hair  over  his 
eyes  and  put  a  handkerchief  over  his  head,  with  his  queer 
little  pigtail  sticking  out  at  the  back.  He  danced  in  a 
sitting  position,  with  his  body  only  a  few  inches  above 
the  ground,  screwing  his  naturally  comical  face  into 
contortions  that  convulsed  his  audience.  At  the  close 
of  his  performance  he  said  coolly,  "  I  am  going  to  break- 
fast," and  took  his  departure.  Rafael  now  asked  if  I 
wished  to  go  home  and  looking  at  my  watch,  I  saw  both 
hands  were  at  twelve.  Even  then  we  lingered :  guitarras 
were  purring,  mandolinas  tinkling,  castanuelas  clicking 
gaily,  with  the  monotonous,  unending  sound  of  pipe  and 
drum,  and  the  orchestras  in  full  swing.  On  every  side, 
as  far  as  we  could  see,  were  the  trees  bright  with 
colored  lights,  and  the  people  dancing  beneath  them ; 
shouts  of  laughter,  men's  voices  singing  with  the  players, 
and  "  Ole,  con  ole,  con  ole !  " 

On  our  way  home,  I  thanked  Rafael  for  persuading 
me  to  stay  over  for  the  fiesta,  assuring  him  that  I  should 
always  remember  it  with  satisfaction.  He  politely  ac- 
cepted my  thanks,  and  added  that  he  now  hoped  I  would 
defer  my  journey  until  after  Mexico's  great  celebration 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         271 

on  the  sixteenth  of  September,  which  is  the  anniversary 
of  Mexican  Independence.  He  said  that  it  was  indis- 
pensable to  a  proper  understanding  of  the  Mexican 
pubhc;  and  I  realized  that  he  was  right,  for  the  best 
time  to  know  an  individual  or  a  people  is  undeniably 
the  time  of  relaxation  and  pleasure.  On  inquiry  I 
learned  that  the  celebration  really  began  the  night  of 
September  fifteenth,  when  the  President  rang  the  historic 
bell  and  gave  the  grito  or  cry  of  independence  from  the 
balcony  of  the  National  Palace.  After  this,  I  was  told, 
there  were  music  and  fireworks  and  then  people  went 
home.  At  the  eleventh  hour  I  was  set  right,  where  the 
going  home  was  concerned,  by  a  mysterious  communica- 
tion commonly  known  as  a  "  tip." 

I  got  the  tip  straight  from  Epifanio.  Our  relations 
had  long  been  confidential, —  in  fact  he  was  my  secretario, 
though  no  one  knew  this  but  him  and  me.  For  the 
other  boarders  he  was  mozo,  and  general  roustabout 
They  called  him  "  Pifa  "  and  "  tu."  I  always  addressed 
him  as  Epifanio.  We  both  felt  that  nicknames,  as  ap- 
plied to  a  private  secretary,  were  trifling  and  undignified 
—  little  short  of  groscrias.  Epifanio  was  queer-looking. 
He  was  short  to  begin  with,  and  one  leg  was  shorter  than 
the  other.  He  had  the  Indian's  brown  skin  and  a  shock 
of  hair  like  a  doormat ;  but  his  shrewd  face  and  energetic 
manner,  above  all  his  volubility,  showed  that  he  was 
not  all  Indian,  He  first  interested  me  by  telling  me  re- 
markable things  about  his  home  which  is  in  the  vi- 
cinity of  Zacatecas,  and  making  invidious  remarks  about 
la  capital,  which  he  said  was  ugly.  According  to 
Epifanio,  la  capital  and  his  tierra  were  not  to  be  named 
in  the  same  day.  If  his  accounts  of  the  latter  were 
true,  it  is  little  short  of  paradise.  If  not,  he  deserves 
the  more  credit  for  his  inventive  genius. 


272         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

Epifanio  asked  me  one  clay,  in  a  confidential  undertone, 
if  I  had  ever  heard  of  a  man  by  the  name  of  Hernan 
Cortes.  He  said  he  was  an  "  individual  "  who  came  in 
a  ship,  quite  a  long  time  ago,  and  made  war  on  the 
Aztecs.  Finding  that  I  was  deeply  interested  to  hear 
more,  he  proceeded  to  give  me  several  verbatim  con- 
versations, which  took  place  between  Malinche  (the 
Indian's  name  for  Cortes)  and  the  Aztec  king.  I  sug- 
gested casually  that  I  had  heard  the  latter's  name  was 
Cuauhtemoctzin.  Epifanio  said  "may  be," — but  that  he 
was  not  sure,  so  we  let  the  matter  drop.  The  main 
point  was  that  Malinche  made  prisoners  of  the  Indians, 
and  treated  them  cruelly. 

Epifanio  added  with  some  pride  that  there  had  once 
been  a  sort  of  play  given  in  his  tierra,  depicting  scenes 
from  the  conquest,  in  which  he  had  assumed  the  character 
of  Malinche.  Naturally  I  wished  to  hear  the  verses,  and 
after  some  persuasion,  Epifanio  took  his  position  in  the 
center  of  my  room  with  a  disreputable  cap  on  the  back 
of  his  head,  ragged  shirt  and  trousers  that  seemed  strug- 
gling to  part  company,  and  wrecks  of  shoes,  from  which 
protruded  numerous  soiled  toes ;  and  in  his  decidedly 
musical  voice,  accompanied  by  furtive  whiffs  of  mescal, 
recited  a  descriptive  poem  of  the  dream  and  vision  of 
the  princess  Papantzin,  in  which  she  saw  the  white  chief 
coming  with  his  legions  across  the  waters  to  take  the 
realm  and  crown  of  her  brother  Montezuma  and  make 
him  and  his  people  the  vassals  of  a  strange  king.  The 
recital  was  attended  with  many  graceful  and  expressive 
gestures,  and  much  flourishing  of  a  very  greasy  rag, 
which  Epifanio  employed  ostensibly  for  cleaning  pur- 
poses. 

I  expressed  my  ai)preciation  of  the  performance  in 
feeling  terms,  and  at  dinner  he  smuggled  me  a  double 


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IB. 

THE  MAN  WHO  LHvES  MEXICO         275 

portion  of  dulce  in  token  of  his  esteem.  That  was  the 
beginning  of  our  intimacy.  It  was  cemented  by  my  tak- 
ing his  photograph.  He  made  the  request  one  morning, 
when  he  was  looking  more  disreputable  than  usual,  if 
such  a  thing  were  possible.  He  said  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren were  still  in  the  Zacatecas  country,  and  he  wished 
to  send  them  a  portrait.  This  gave  me  an  inspiration, 
and,  getting  my  kodak,  I  snapped  him  on  the  spot. 
Epifanio  objected  strongly:  he  wanted  to  change  his 
attire,  but  I  told  him  this  preliminary  shot  was  merely 
for  practice.  He  then  disappeared,  and  after  some  time 
presented  himself  in  such  gorgeous  apparel,  that  I  felt 
sure  even  his  wife  would  not  recognize  him.  He  made 
a  superb  picture,  however,  and  one  was  duly  despatched 
in  care  of  a  certain  comadre  who  was  returning  to  his 
tierra.  At  the  same  time  I  have  one  taken  au  natural, 
which  Epifanio  has  never  seen  and  which  I  am  sure  he 
would  not  approve  of.  But  to  return  to  the  tip.  I  re- 
ceived it  on  the  day  of  the  grito  (September  fifteenth) 
and  this  is  what  it  was.  Epifanio  said  the  upper  class 
labored  under  the  delusion  that  the  fun  ended  with  the 
grito :  that  all  that  followed  consisted  in  drunkards  tramp- 
ing and  yelling  through  the  street.  He  said  that  this  was 
all  a  mistake  and  added  mysteriously  that  the  actual 
gaiety  did  n't  begin  until  the  strangers  and  sightseers  had 
gone  home. 

The  more  I  thought  of  Epifanio's  statement,  the 
greater  became  my  curiosity.  On  this  one  night  the 
peones  are  said  to  have  license  to  do  practically  as  they 
choose.  They  have  certainly  plenty  to  drink  and  alcohol 
brings  out  the  worst  side  of  a  people.  I  wanted  to  see 
what  that  side  was  like.  After  one  turn  with  a  friend 
on  San  Francisco  street,  which  was  truly  pandemonium, 
I  went  home  and  stayed  until  I  felt  satisfied  the  "  gente 


276         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

dccente  "  had  sought  their  houses.  I  then  put  on  a  thick 
coat  and  salhed  forth.  I  had  always  hked  Mexico's  work- 
ing classes,  but  what  I  saw  from  that  time  on  till  morn- 
ing, "  when  the  people  were  allowed  to  do  as  they 
pleased,"  made  me  like  them  more  than  ever. 

It  was  two  o'clock  and  a  street  dance  was  under  way 
at  the  great  arch  at  the  head  of  Plateros.  An  obliging 
organ-grinder  furnished  the  music  and  when  he  was 
tired  the  dancers  took  turns  in  grinding.  Decent  look- 
ing lads  of  the  pueblo  were  waltzing  with  buxom  maids : 
schoolboys  with  their  arms  about  each  other,  were 
whirling  like  tops,  and  small,  dirty  ragamuffins  were 
gliding,  two  and  two,  with  a  grace  they  must  have  im- 
bibed with  their  mother's  milk.  Heaven  alone  knows 
how  or  where  those  imps  learned  to  waltz,  but  waltz 
they  did,  with  the  swaying,  undulating  motion  seen  on 
the  ::arcucla  stage. 

In  front  of  the  portales  and  cathedral  and  surround- 
ing the  plaza,  were  the  street  kitchens  with  their  flaring 
lights,  surrounded  by  hungry  revelers,  attracted  by 
savory  but  greasy  odors.  The  prudent  bodies  were  al- 
ready flocking  like  chickens  to  their  sleeping-places  under 
the  portales.  There  they  huddled,  five  and  six  deep, 
all  along  the  line,  in  front  of  the  shops.  I  asked  a  com- 
fortable looking  ranchero,  who  with  me  was  watching 
the  small  dancing  dervishes,  when  and  where  the  crea- 
tures would  sleep.  "  Sleep !  "  he  chuckled,  "  Daybreak 
will  find  them  dancing  in  the  streets !  " 

At  this  point,  the  ballroom  was  thrown  into  confusion 
by  the  appearance  of  a  big-headed  man  who  rushed  in 
among  the  dancers  and  began  delivering  an  oration. 
The  delighted  crowd  closed  in  on  him  yelling  "  Viva 
Mexico !  "  They  swept  him  off  his  feet  and  lifted  him  on 
their  shoulders,  where  he  kept  on  declaiming  and  wildly 


Approach  to  Paseo  de  la  Refornia,  Mexico  City 


Mlccl   kltLllrli> 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         279 

waving  hat  and  cane  until  gendarmes  came  running  up 
and  rescued  him  from  his  excited  admirers. 

On  with  the  dance !  The  organ-grinder,  who  was  try- 
ing to  make  his  escape,  was  promptly  rounded  up :  some 
one  volunteered  to  grind  and  the  ball  proceeded.  At 
my  side  a  disheveled  but  cheerful  female  was  reminding 
an  older  one  how  she  danced  a  year  ago.  She  com- 
menced singing  in  a  cracked  voice  and  executed  a  few 
steps  of  el  jarabe.  What  a  miracle !  A  woman  without 
a  partner  contentedly  watching  the  sport  of  others  and 
cheerful  in  remembering  her  own  triumphs  of  last  year ! 

Throughout  the  square  the  people  were  assembled  in 
groups,  each  with  its  cluster  of  star  performers.  Music 
was  always  the  attraction.  Instruments  and  voices  were 
often  out  of  tune :  a  fine  drizzle  was  falling  and  when 
there  was  an  umbrella  in  the  crowd  it  was  held  over  the 
performers :  but  the  audience  was  a  grateful  one  and 
the  singer  seemed  perfectly  happy. 

A  man  sat  on  a  bench  before  the  cathedral,  strumming 
a  guitar  for  the  entertainment  of  a  small  circle.  Two 
girls  in  black  shawls  came  along  unattended.  They 
stopped  before  the  player  and  one  asked,  "  Would  you 
like  me  to  sing?"  "Why  not!"  said  the  man.  With- 
out more  ado  she  began  singing,  the  man  following  her 
with  his  guitar.  A  girl  of  the  street !  Perhaps !  This 
was  what  she  sang: 

Es  cl  amor  un  scntimienio  puro, 
Que  divinisa  al  alma  y  enoblece: 
Es  una  Aor  que  iiace  y  solo  crece. 
En  el  arbol  feraz  del  corazon. 
El  corazon  es  el  jardin  del  alma; 
Mas  con  llanto  riega  su  recreo; 
Cada  lagrima  ardientc  es  un  deseo, 
Que  fecundisa  este  arbol  del  amor. 


28o         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

Love  is  a  passion  pure, 
That  blesses,  ennobles  the  soul : 
A  flower  that  buds  and  blooms  only 
On  the  fruitful  tree  of  the  heart. 
The  heart  is  the  garden  of  the  soul, 
Its  blossoms  are  watered  with  tears : 
Each  passionate  tear  is  a  prayer, 
That  nurtures  this  tree  of  thy  love. 

On  the  plaza  a  crowd  had  gathered  about  a  man  who 
played  the  guitar  superbly.  He  was  a  full-blooded  In- 
dian in  white  cotton  clothing  and  sandals,  and  a  master 
of  his  instrument  —  by  far  the  best  guitar  player  I  had 
heard  in  the  republic.  If  a  fine  face  and  dignified 
manner  mean  anything,  the  fellow  had  good  blood  in 
him,  though  he  was  a  peon.  I  had  seen  more  than  one 
such  in  my  wanderings,  and  I  always  said  to  myself, 
"  Ah  ha !  here  is  a  strain  of  Aztec  blue-blood !  "  It  had 
to  go  somewhere.  It  was  not  all  spilled  nor  was  it  all 
merged  into  that  of  the  conquering  race.  At  the  con- 
clusion of  a  weird  melody,  a  fair-skinned  young  fellow 
in  eye-glasses,  evidently  a  student,  pushed  his  way 
through  the  crowd  and  offered  to  sing.  The  Indian 
bowed  gravely  and  the  lad  struck  at  once  into  a  gay 
danza.  He  had  a  sweet,  clear  tenor  and  seemed  to  feel 
sure  of  his  accompanist.  I  doubt  if  the  Indian  had  ever 
heard  the  song  before,  yet  he  played  it  delightfully,  with 
that  wonderful  running  melody  in  the  bass,  which  is  the 
acme  of  good  guitar  playing.  The  crowd  applauded 
and  an  inebriated  individual  demanded,  "  Otra  —  otra !  " 
"  Take  a  seat,"  besought  his  female  companion.  The 
individual,  who  was  quite  unsteady,  sank'  into  a  seat 
murmuring,  "Music  always  enchants  me!"  The  lad, 
gratified  at  his  success,  sang  another  and  the  Indian 
played  it  as  perfectly  as  the  first.     It  was  natural  and 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         281 

refreshing.  The  boy  had  a  good  voice  and  loved  to  sing, 
the  Indian  played  the  guitar  as  few  can  and  doubtless 
knew  it.  The  boy's  face  showed  plainly  his  gratification 
but  the  Indian  made  no  sign. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  that  Alexico's  songs,  even  of 
the  pueblo,  have  almost  always  a  pure,  often  a  beautiful 
sentiment.  Alore,  the  people  care  quite  as  much  for 
the  verse  as  for  the  music.  The  country  people  have 
a  sort  of  comic  song  called  a  ranchcra,  which  is  as  popu- 
lar there  as  are  the  negro  songs  in  the  North. 

Four  inebriates  with  their  arms  around  each  other, 
leaned  up  against  a  fountain  basin,  empty  bottles  in 
hand,  and  sang  to  a  cross-looking  female,  who  seemed 
trying  to  get  them  to  go  home.  At  first  I  could  n't 
make  out  a  word,  but  they  liked  the  song,  and  no  sooner 
was  it  ended,  than  they  started  it  over  again.  At  last  I 
gathered  the  following: 

Marchita  cl  ahiia,  miicrto  cl  scntiinicnto, 
Miistia  la  faa,  hclado  el  coracon; 
Vagando  sieinprc  por  camino  incierto. 
Sin  la  cspcransa  —  sin  la  cspcranza  — 
De  alcanzar  hi  amor. 

Yo  qiiise  hablarte,  y  decirte  niiicJio  —  mucho  — 
Y  al  intcntarlo.  mi  labia  enmudecio. 
Nada  tc  dije  porquc  nada  pude, 
Ptics   era   de    otro   ya  —  piics    era   de    otro   ya  —  tu 
coraaon. 

Withered  the  soul  —  dead  the  sentiment  — 
Sad  the  face  —  frozen  the  heart  — 
Wandering  always  in  uncertain  paths, 

Without  the  hope  of  gaining  thy  love, 
I  wished  to  speak  with  thee  — 

To  tell  thee  much  —  much  — 
And  in  trying  my  lips  were  frozen : 

I  told  thee  nothing,  for  I  could  not, 
It  was  another's  already  thy  heart. 


282         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

This  was  enough  to  melt  any  heart,  but  it  seemed  to 
have  an  irritating  effect  on  the  woman.  Perhaps  she 
didn't  care  for  music!  I  was  wondering  which  one  of 
the  four  was  the  possessor  of  her  affections,  when  she 
suddenly  made  a  vicious  grab  for  one  of  her  wooers  and 
with  a  few  vigorous  cuffs,  started  him  off  ahead  of  her. 
Evidently  he  was  the  lucky  man.  The  others  trailed 
along  in  the  rear,  "  wandering  always  in  uncertain  paths." 

All  this  time  it  was  drizzling  intermittently,  yet  every 
seat  on  the  plaza  was  full.  What  impressed  me  was  the 
universal  good  nature.  I  saw  but  one  fight.  It  was 
between  a  coffee  vender  and  a  patron  who  paid  a  centavo 
for  a  cup  of  coffee,  and  then  tried  to  make  away  with 
the  cup.  The  owner  called  him  a  sinvcrgiiensa  (without 
shame)  and  drew  his  knife,  but  his  wife  threw  herself 
into  the  breach  exclaiming,  "Que  hacesf"  ("What  are 
you  doing?")  and  at  this  juncture  the  gendarmes  ar- 
rived and  carried  off  the  cup-grabber.  At  the  corner, 
however,  they  let  him  go,  nor  was  this  the  only  case  of 
leniency  I  witnessed.  A  decent-looking  young  peon 
was  arrested  on  the  complaint  of  a  girl  of  the  middle 
lower-class,  who  claimed  he  had  robbed  her  of  a  neck- 
lace of  glass  beads,  breaking  the  string  and  snatching 
them  from  behind.  The  peon  swore  he  was  innocent, 
told  where  he  worked,  produced  a  huge  key  to  prove 
that  he  had  a  roof  to  sleep  under  and  declared  that  his 
wife  was  seated  over  there,  under  the  portales,  and  that 
it  was  not  convenient  to  leave  her  alone  in  such  a  crowd. 
I  was  for  letting  him  go  and  I  tliink  the  gendarme  was ; 
but  the  girl,  while  she  did  n't  seem  at  all  certain  he  was 
the  man,  insisted  on  his  being  taken  to  the  station. 
"  Bueno!  "  said  the  peon,  and  then  performed  a  strategic 
master-stroke  that  gained  him  his  freedom.  Taking  off 
his  hat,  he  besought  the  girl  to  go  and  fetch  his  wife. 


National  palate,   Mexico  City 


Jockey  (lull,  Mexico  City,  (iuriuy  tlower  carnival 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         285 

that  he  might  give  her  the  key  to  their  tenement.  His 
accuser  hesitated. 

"  Poor  thing !  "  said  her  companion.     "  Let  us  go  !  " 

"Where?"  asked  the  girl. 

"  Just  there,  under  the  portales,"  said  the  peon.  With 
a  bewildered  look  the  girl  started  on  her  hopeless  quest, 
prompted  by  sympathy  for  the  luckless  wife.  The  crowd 
surged  in  between.  The  gendarme  relaxed  his  hold  a 
bit,  and  his  attention  seemed  drawn  in  another  direction. 
The  next  minute  the  peon  was  gone. 

"  I  could  not  find  her,"  said  the  girl,  returning  in  dis- 
gust.    "  Where  is  that  man  !  " 

"  He  escaped,"  said  the  gendarme. 

At  four  A.  M.  it  was  still  raining  and  the  people  were 
still  dancing.  The  streets  were  covered  with  sticky 
slime  an  inch  deep,  but  this  did  n't  aflfect  bare  feet.  The 
latter  suiTered  more  or  less  from  broken  glass,  however. 
I  saw  a  boy  contentedly  grinning  at  the  dancers,  while 
he  held  up  one  foot  from  which  had  dripped  a  small 
pool  of  blood.  "  A  broken  bottle,  seiior !  "  He  seemed 
quite  indifferent  and  I  concluded  sympathy  was  not  in 
order.  His  complete  disregard  of  the  hurt  struck  me 
as  a  species  of  mind-cure.  Peones'  feet  must  have  re- 
markably tough  soles !  In  the  circle  about  the  band- 
stand another  dance  was  under  way,  and  the  participants 
were  nearly  all  barefooted ;  yet  they  danced  furiously 
on  the  uneven  and  quite  rocky  ground  and  every  time 
the  organ-grinder  tried  to  get  away  they  surrounded 
him  and  pleaded  for  "  just  one  more."  His  music,  like 
all  the  rest,  was  a  free  contribution  to  the  fiesta ;  and  it 
showed  a  generous  spirit  in  all  those  of  his  calling  who 
carried  their  heavy  instruments  from  place  to  place,  and 
supplied  dance-music  free  of  charge. 

I  was  still  more  impressed  when  a  company  of  musi- 
14 


286         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

cians,  members  of  a  stringed  orchestra  returning  from 
a  ball  probably,  stopped  in  crossing  the  plaza,  tuned  their 
instruments  as  well  as  they  could  in  the  rain,  and  played 
the  bewitching  music  of  "  Los  Cocineros "  for  their 
offering.  I  imagine  these  bands  gain  a  precarious 
livelihood.  The  members  of  this  one  were  thinly  clad 
for  such  weather  and  there  was  not  a  whole  pair  of  shoes 
among  them.  They  could  n't  have  felt  much  like  play- 
ing but  they  wanted  to  do  their  part.  "  Vivan  los 
musicos !  "  shouted  the  crowd,  "  Otra  !  Otra !  Vivan  los 
musicos !  " 

At  five  o'clock  the  street  kitchens  were  doing  a  thriv- 
ing business.  The  more  prosperous  ones  had  canvas 
awnings  and  were  provided  with  tables  and  wooden 
benches :  but  there  were  scores  of  Indian  women  out  in 
the  open,  crouching  on  the  wet  cobblestones,  before 
their  small  charcoal  pots,  cooking  for  clamorous  multi- 
tudes. Everything  seemed  to  be  frying  and  the  damp 
morning  air  was  heavy  with  the  fumes  of  sizzling  fat. 
Music  was  still  in  demand  and  every  kitchen  had  one  or 
more  obliging  artists.  Among  them  was  a  brawny 
cargador,  who  whistled  through  his  fingers  like  a  steam 
calliope,  to  the  intense  delight  of  a  large  audience.  Most 
of  these  people  had  not  slept  a  wink,  yet  all  were  emi- 
nently cheerful.  A  small  proportion  only  showed  the 
effects  of  over-imbibing.  We  are  apt  to  be  more  im- 
pressed, however,  by  these,  than  by  the  masses  of  well- 
behaved  people.  The  morning  broke  gray  and  dismal, 
and  I  began  to  have  visions  of  a  more  comfortable  place 
than  the  Plaza  Mayor.  Many  others  seemed  of  the 
same  mind  and  were  departing  in  groups  to  their  homes 
in  the  suburbs.  Nearly  all  were  singing.  As  I  passed 
the  portales  I  took  a  last  look  at  the  sleeping  multitude. 
I  am  sure  there  was  not  room  for  even  one  more.     A 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         287 

few  of  the  vivacious  ones  were  exchanging  cigarros  and 
gossip,  but  most  of  them  were  sleeping,  some  full-length 
on  the  hard  pavement,  others  in  a  sitting  posture,  with 
their  heads  bowed  between  their  knees,  or  with  the 
shoulder  of  a  friend  for  a  pillow ;  the  patient  Mexican 
pueblo,  which  had  been  granted  license  for  twelve 
hours,  and  took  it  out  in  singing,  dancing  and  shouting, 
"Viva  Mexico!" 


CHAPTER  XI 

Anticipation:  Pleasures  of  Mexico  City:  Second  Visit  to  Du- 
rango :  Over  the  Mountains  With  Manuel :  A  Rainy  Day : 
The  Voices  of  the  Sea:  Don  Lucio :  Snow,  Sunshine  and  a 
Camp  under  the  Pines :  A  Lonely  Maid  :  Manuel's  Diplomacy : 
Snow  in  the  Mountains:  Oranges  Keep  Cold:  The  Ideal 
Camp. 

I  HAD  communicated  my  plan  to  revisit  the  mines  to 
Don  Alfredo  and  Dona  Marciana,  and  had  received 
from  them  a  behest  to  rejoin  them  as  soon  as  con- 
venient, and  an  admonition  to  make  the  journey  over  the 
Durango  mountains  before  the  beginning  of  the  winter 
rains.  I  had  set  my  heart  on  passing  the  Christmas  holi- 
days at  the  mines ;  but  it  was  still  September,  and  with 
the  holiday  prospect  in  view,  I  lingered  on  in  Mexico, 
enjoying  the  pleasures  of  the  capital  city. 

November  was  already  far  advanced  when  I  began  to 
take  seriously  Don  Alfredo's  admonition  to  cross  the 
mountains  before  the  rains  set  in.  I  knew  they  were  due 
any  time  in  December,  and  I  decided  to  start  at  once. 
I  packed  one  of  my  horsehide  trunks,  wrote  and  posted 
a  few  home  letters,  passed  the  last  afternoon  in  leave- 
takings,  and  in  the  early  morning  took  train  for  Durango. 

For  me  Durango  will  always  be  associated  with  the 
charm  of  surprise.  From  it  I  had  my  first  revelation  as 
to  Mexico's  cities.  I  learned  then  that  it  was  one  of 
the  most  primitive,  or  rather  conservative,  of  all  the 
cities.  It  was  Scmana  Santa  and  the  place  was  given 
over  to  the  accustomed  rites,  which  were  attended  with 

288 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         289 

much  more  austerity  than  in  the  capital ;  the  penitential 
season  being  followed  by  a  bull-fight,  my  first  spectacle 
of  los  toros.  I  don't  rail  against  bull-fights.  I  know 
centuries  of  custom  are  a  powerful  factor,  not  to  be 
treated  lightly.  I  simply  keep  away  from  them.  The 
nearest  approach  to  trouble  I  ever  saw  in  the  casa  de 
huespedes  where  I  lived  in  Mexico,  was  the  result  of 
my  expressing  my  feelings  on  the  subject,  one  day,  when 
there  were  about  thirty  young  Mexicans,  with  a  sprinkling 
of  Spaniards  and  Cubans  in  the  dining-room.  About 
half  of  them  sided  with  me  and  the  battle  waged  hot 
and  heavy.  They  talked  so  fast,  I  could  n't  understand 
a  word  and  I  was  relieved  when  there  was  a  slight  lull, 
resulting  from  lack  of  breath  on  the  part  of  the  com- 
batants, and  I  was  enabled  to  interpose  a  diversion  in  the 
shape  of  a  gringo  blunder  regarding  the  sport,  which 
raised  a  laugh. 

When  I  was  in  Durango  before,  the  beautiful  plaza 
was  ablaze  with  yellow  roses  and  the  seats  all  filled,  at 
every  hour  in  the  day,  with  the  people,  mostly  of  the 
working  class.  There  were  few  foreigners  in  evidence. 
Now  I  noticed  a  marked  decrease  in  the  peones  and  a 
corresponding  increase  in  foreigners.  I  even  saw  some 
fair  young  country-women  of  mine  sitting  on  the  plaza 
reading,  and  the  sight  gladdened  my  eyes.  Durango 
is  the  center  of  the  mining  district  and  the  mine  owners 
congregate  there,  along  with  a  miscellaneous  assortment 
of  men  who  have  been  working  in  the  mines  and  are 
waiting  to  go  out;  and  of  others  who  are  seeking  work 
and  are  waiting  to  go  in. 

Durango  is  a  busy  place,  although  one  would  not  think 
so  at  first  sight.  The  busy  scenes  are  within  the  patios 
of  the  immense  supply  houses,  where  mozos  are  busy 
from  morning  till  night,  nailing  and   sewing  up  stores 


290         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

for  the  various  mining  haciendas.  Occasionally  you  will 
see  a  freighter  with  anywhere  from  fifty  to  eighty  pack- 
mules,  preparing  for  his  long  trip  into  the  mountains. 
After  much  tugging  and  cinching  on  the  part  of  the  men, 
and  much  bucking  and  shying  on  the  part  of  the  mules, 
each  beast  is  finally  loaded  with  a  pack  weighing  from 
eight  to  twelve  arrobas  (two  hundred  to  three  hundred 
pounds)  and  the  long  train  winds  out  of  the  city  and 
up  the  mountain,  to  begin  a  journey  of  two  weeks  or 
more.  Twice  I  had  been  there  in  April,  and  found  it 
ideal  spring  weather ;  and  now  in  these  first  December 
days,  the  mornings  and  nights  were  like  those  of  a  sharp. 
Northern  fall,  with  a  midday  like  Indian  summer. 

The  men  of  Durango,  particularly  of  the  working 
class,  seem  larger  and  of  a  more  vigorous  type  than  in 
the  Southern  cities.  There  is  much  beauty  among  the 
women,  also  of  rather  a  distinctive  order ;  in  fact  one 
could  almost  tell  a  Durango  woman  of  the  middle  class, 
from  a  certain  similarity  of  expression  and  the  slow  but 
musical,  drawling  accent.  The  cargadores  who  are 
always  most  prominent  among  the  workers  of  a  city 
are  a  brawny,  stalwart  set,  eminently  clean  and  decent 
in  appearance.  They  nearly  all  wear  heavy  blue  overalls 
and  jumpers,  with  thick  shoes  and  a  shaggy,  white  felt 
hat  which  seems  their  special  badge.  Indeed,  all  the 
common  people  impressed  me  as  a  superior  set,  and  a 
young  man,  a  native  of  the  capital,  remarked  the  same 
thing  in  most  forceful  terms.  In  journeying  towards 
the  north,  I  missed  more  and  more  the  cry  of  the  street 
vender. 

I  made  an  early  visit  to  my  favorite  Bafios  de  las 
Canoas  and  had  rather  an  extended  talk  with  the  owner, 
who  treated  me  as  an  old  and  valued  customer.  I  asked 
him  if  he  was  of  Durango  and  he  said  he  was  not;  but 


THE  ^lAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         291 

that  he  had  hved  there  forty  years  and  felt  he  might 
reasonably  claim  it  as  his  home.  I  asked  him  where 
his  tierra  was  and  after  some  meditation,  he  said  that 
he  grew  up  in  San  Luis,  but  that  he  was  born  at  sea. 
His  father  was  bringing  his  young  mother  from  Spain 
and  she  died  in  giving  him  birth.  This  seemed  to  me 
very  sad  and  I  said  as  much.  He  meditated  again  and 
responded,  "  Well,  yes,"  in  a  deprecatory  tone,  as  though 
it  had  never  occurred  to  him  in  that  light.  When  he 
first  came  to  Durango  the  chaparral  covered  the  spot 
where  the  depot  now  stands.  He  approved  of  railroads 
and  prophesied  that  when  the  lines  were  completed  there 
would  be  an  opening  up  of  new  mining  properties  that 
would  astonish  the  natives.  He  assured  me  that  Durango 
was  very  ancient :  that  it  began  as  a  rancho,  followed 
by  a  hacienda  and  then  the  city :  and  that  Torreon  was 
nothing  more  than  a  cluster  of  huts  forty  years  before. 

Durango's  cathedral  is  over  three  centuries  old.  The 
altars  were  originally  of  wood,  but  were  renewed  by  the 
wealthy  mine-owner,  Zambrano,  who  was  once  propri- 
etor of  the  famous  "  ]Mina  Candelaria,"  now  the  prop- 
erty of  a  California  company.  Zambrano  built  a  mag- 
nificent house  in  Durango,  which  is  now  a  government 
building,  and  a  theater  for  his  own  entertainment.  It 
is  said  that  on  the  occasion  of  a  grand  banquet  and  ball, 
he  caused  the  patio  of  his  house  to  be  entirely  relaid 
with  silver  bricks.  The  descendants  of  this  mining  prince 
reside  in  Spain. 

Crossing  the  plaza  one  evening,  I  encountered  an  unex- 
pected treat  in  the  form  of  a  serenata,  by  a  fine  string 
band.  I  was  informed  that  it  was  a  testimonial  from 
some  enamored  swain  to  his  sweetheart,  and  as  a  number 
of  dark-eyed  beauties  were  promenading,  I  speculated  a 
good  deal  as  to  which  might  be  the  favored  one.     Sev- 


292         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

eral  young  caballeros  were  seated  in  the  shade  of  a  rose 
arbor  and  I  singled  out  one,  who  muffled  his  chin  in 
his  cape  with  unusual  mystery,  as  probably  being  the 
lover.  There  was  a  fine  band  concert  on  Sunday  night, 
and  the  manner  of  the  paseo  was  the  same  as  in  other 
cities,  the  ladies  walking  together  and  the  men  in  the 
opposite  direction.  I  saw  many  lovely  faces  and  many 
of  the  girls  were  without  hats,  though  millinery  was 
also  affected  by  the  upper  class. 

I  had  a  great  deal  on  my  mind  while  I  was  in  Durango 
—  mountains  in  fact.  Ever  since  I  had  looked  on  them, 
towering  in  the  distance,  they  had  seemed  to  say, 
"  Come !  "  Among  innumerable  other  things  had  been 
saddle  horses,  pack-mules  and  mozos.  I  presume  I  tried 
every  horse  for  sale,  within  a  radius  of  twenty  kilometers ; 
and  every  one  had  something  the  matter.  If  his  wind 
was  n't  broken,  he  had  a  sore  back,  or  was  bad  about 
the  head  and  would  n't  take  the  bit.  As  soon  as  I  found 
a  horse  that  I  felt  a  liking  for,  all  the  gentlemen  at  the 
hotel,  horsemen  every  one  of  them,  began  telling  me 
his  bad  points,  and  before  they  had  finished  I  would  n't 
have  had  him  for  a  gift.  It  is  no  fun  at  this  season, 
when  the  night  winds  are  cold  and  snow  may  fall  any 
time,  to  be  caught  in  the  mountains  with  a  leg-weary 
horse,  and  have  to  dismount  and  drag  him  up  the  trail. 
So  I  decided  to  take  a  mule.  A  mule  may  be  joggy  but 
she  always  gets  there.  Manuel,  my  mozo,  advised  this 
from  the  start,  and  now  that  I  acted  on  his  advice,  he 
was  delighted.  Manuel's  chief  anxiety  seemed  to  relate 
to  the  cocina  (kitchen)  as  he  called  our  box  of  provisions. 
He  suggested  gordas  and  tamales,  to  which  I  acceded ; 
and  shortly  after,  he  appeared  with  two  women,  each 
laden  with  immense  baskets,  one  of  which  was  filled 
with  gordas  and  the  other   literally   running  over  with 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  AIEXICO         293 

tamales.  I  tried  one  and  found  it  good  and  Manuel 
said  when  they  were  hot  they  were  much  better.  I 
asked  him  rather  doubtfully  if  he  thought  we  could  eat 
all  the  gordas, —  they  looked  enough  for  a  regiment, —  but 
Manuel  said  when  he  was  on  the  trail,  he  could  himself 
eat  an  almud  of  corn  a  day.  He  was  a  sturdy,  lusty 
chap,  light  on  his  feet,  and  I  fancied  would  be  a  good 
hand  to  keep  the  fire  going  at  night  and  look  out  for 
the  animals.  He  had  a  jolly  face  and  I  doubted  not 
could  sing.  I  like  a  singing  mozo.  When  you  are  riding 
five  days  at  a  stretch  with  no  other  companion,  it  helps 
out  amazingly. 

On  the  night  before  our  departure  I  experienced  that 
sense  of  peace  and  contentment  I  had  felt  before,  on  the 
eve  of  a  mountain  journey.  Now  but  a  few  hours  inter- 
vened between  me  and  the  mountains,  with  their  rugged 
heights ;  the  dim  woods  and  the  silent  places ;  sleeping 
under  the  stars  by  the  camp-fire,  and  up  and  away  at 
the  crack  of  dawn.  Long  I  gazed  on  them  from  the 
corridor  of  the  hotel.  A  warm  wind  was  blowing  straight 
from  the  hills,  and  I  fancied  it  brought  the  smell  of  pine 
woods  and  the  chaparral.  Manuel  came  to  inquire  at 
what  time  we  should  start,  and  signified  his  readiness 
to  be  on  hand  with  the  mules  at  4  a.  m.  We  compro- 
mised on  six  o'clock.  The  one  thing  I  did  not  like  was 
the  sound  of  Manuel's  feet  on  the  stone  floor  of  the 
corridor,  as  he  came  to  bring  some  oranges  I  had  sent 
him  for.  There  was  a  halting,  disconnected  sort  of 
flap  to  his  sandals  that  made  me  look  to  see  what  was 
up ;  and  I  found  he  was  stepping  high  and  putting  his 
feet  down  carefully,  as  though  he  were  treading  on 
eggs.  Besides  there  was  a  fixed  glare  in  his  eye,  that 
showed  things  had  begun  to  go  round,  and  that  he  found 
his  only  safety  in  putting  his  gaze  on  one  object  and 


294         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

holding  it  there.  I  told  him  to  call  me  at  five  o'clock 
sharp  and  that  we  would  start  at  six ;  and  then  sent  him 
away  with  some  misgivings  as  to  whether  he  would 
show  up  at  all  or  not ;  but  at  five  o'clock,  while  it  was 
still  pitch  dark,  there  came  a  rap  on  my  door  and,  "  Here 
I  am,  seiior !  "  Manuel  had  slept  off  his  slight  indisposi- 
tion and  was  ready  for  business.  From  that  time  to  the 
end  of  our  journey  he  refused  even  a  small  capita,  though 
I  knew  he  was  often  tired  and  cold.  He  always  said, 
"  I  don't  know  how  to  drink."  I  am  convinced  this  was 
true  and  that  one  social  cup  with  a  friend  the  last  night 
had  gone  to  his  feet. 

When  Manuel  was  roping  the  cargo  on  the  mules  I 
saw  him  give  a  short,  searching  glance  at  the  sky. 
I  noticed  that  it  was  rather  leaden,  but  thought  the  sun 
would  remedy  that.  I  got  on  my  mule  and  Manuel  came 
and  fixed  the  rosaderas,  two  long  strips  of  bear-skin 
which  hung  from  the  pommel,  covering  my  legs  and  feet 
and  fastening  back  of  the  saddle.  I  felt  like  an  infant 
being  tied  into  a  perambulator  and  the  things  struck  me 
as  absurd,  but  I  was  glad  enough  to  have  them  ere  the 
day  was  over.  Before  we  got  outside  the  city,  a  light, 
drizzling  rain  began  falling;  but  I  relied  on  the  sunrise 
to  set  all  right.  The  morning  broke,  cold  and  dismal, 
and  the  drizzle  increased.  Manuel  said  it  would  be  worse 
in  the  mountains.  The  weather  was  not  without  its 
compensation,  as  the  dampness  brought  out  all  the  aro- 
matic odors  of  grass  and  shrubs,  making  me  breathe 
longer  and  deeper  than  I  had  for  months.  This  action 
seems  involuntary,  as  though  the  lungs  had  been  craving 
sweet,  pure  air  and  were  greedy  to  get  their  fill  of  it. 

As  we  turned  a  bend  in  the  trail,  we  came  upon  a 
young  girl  sitting  on  the  ground,  laughing  at  the  top 
of  her  voice ;  while  a  peon  and  an  older  woman   were 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         295 

busily  picking  up  some  loose  corn  they  had  evidently 
upset.  The  girl  called  out,  "  Adios,  sefior ! "  and  then 
"Where  are  you  going?"  I  told  her,  at  which  she 
shouted,  "  Won't  you  take  me  ?  "  "  Yes  1  Why  not  ? 
Come  on ! "  I  replied.  At  this  she  began  screaming  and 
laughing  again  and  I  heard  her  long  after  she  was  out 
of  sight.  By  this  time  the  drizzle  had  turned  into  a 
cold,  soaking  rain  which  was  directly  in  our  faces.  The 
two  women  we  had  just  passed  were  riding  burros,  and 
with  no  covering  save  their  thin,  cotton  dresses,  and 
pieces  of  white  stuff  that  looked  like  coarse  bagging. 
The  peon  was  on  foot,  and  they  were  bound  for  La 
Mina  Trinidad,  a  good  five  days'  journey,  Manuel  said. 
As  we  crossed  the  first  ridge,  the  rain  and  wind  in- 
creased and  there  came  a  dull,  sullen  roar  from  the 
mountains.  I  looked  at  Manuel  and  asked  what  it  was. 
There  was  a  scared  look  on  his  face  as -he  answered 
that  it  was  the  sea.  He  said  it  was  mny  malo  (very 
bad),  that  it  meant  bad  weather,  with  much  rain  and 
snow.  It  seemed  incredible  that  it  could  really  be  the 
roar  of  the  ocean,  so  far  inland ;  but  I  have  no  other 
theory  to  ofifer,  as  it  was  neither  thunder  nor  wind. 
We  heard  it  several  times  and  it  sounded  dreary  enough. 
The  only  other  human  beings  we  saw  were  a  peon  and 
his  woman,  the  latter  mounted  on  a  little  burro  which 
the  peon  was  hurrying  cityward ;  and  a  woman  driving 
several  animals  loaded  with  firewood,  which  she  had 
undoubtedly  cut  herself,  as  the  ax  was  lashed  to  one 
of  the  cargoes.  She  was  thinly  clad  and  her  bare  feet 
projected  from  her  ragged  shoes  as  she  trudged  along 
in  the  storm.  At  two  o'clock  we  reached  the  rancho, 
San  Jose,  an  ordinary  ride  of  three  hours  which  had 
taken  us  seven ;  and  as  the  rain  showed  no  sign  of  hold- 
ing up,  I  decided  to  stay  there  for  the  night.     There  was 


296         THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO 

no  other  house  we  could  possibly  make  and  Don  Lucio, 
the  caporal,  kindly  opened  a  room  in  the  owner's  cot- 
tage, where  I  could  be  very  comfortable.  While  Manuel 
made  a  fire  before  the  door  and  got  dinner,  Don  Lucio 
came  in  and  sat  with  me.  He  was  a  short,  fat,  little 
man,  about  fifty  years  old,  in  a  leather  charro  suit  and 
a  big  hat.  He  had  never  been  farther  than  the  city 
of  Durango  in  his  life;  and  he  combined  the  native  dig- 
nity and  courtesy  of  his  race  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child. 
He  inquired  ingenuously  if  I  had  a  traguito  (a  little 
drink)  and  some  cigarros ;  and  these  being  forthcoming, 
he  seated  himself  on  my  trunk  and  relapsed  into  mute 
admiration  for  my  various  belongings,  broken  only  when 
something  elicited  a  "Que  bonito ! "  (How  fine!)  or  a 
"Que  chistoso!"  (How  funny!)  Don  Lucio  admired 
my  blankets,  doted  on  my  revolver  and  chuckled  over 
my  woolen  gloves,  which  he  said  were  very  big  and  hairy 
like  bear's  paws.  Don  Lucio's  delight  was  so  spontane- 
ous I  did  n't  even  trouble  to  say,  "  At  your  orders." 
He  did  n't  want  my  gloves,  I  had  n't  the  least  idea  of 
giving  them  to  him,  and  I  considered  idle  compliments 
a  waste  of   breath. 

Don  Lucio  stayed  to  dinner  and  he  also  dropped  around 
for  supper.  After  the  latter  feast,  he  braced  himself, 
cleared  his  throat  and  said  he  wished  with  my  permis- 
sion, to  ask  me  something.  I  supposed  it  would  be,  at 
the  very  least,  a  request  for  a  donation  of  coft'ee,  which, 
in  the  mountains,  is  valued  above  almost  any  other 
beverage,  unless  it  be  tequila.  Now  hear  how  I  mis- 
judged Don  Lucio !  He  gazed  at  me  earnestly  for  a 
moment  and  then  asked  if  I  had  ever  seen  a  people 
called  the  Chinese.  I  said  that  I  had.  He  eyed  me 
again  as  though  making  sure  that  I  was  telling  him  the 
truth  and  then  went  on.     He  had  heard  there  was  an- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         297 

other  people  uglier  still  than  the  Chinese  and  black  — 
black,  who  wore  little  or  no  clothing  and  were  bought 
and  sold  like  beasts,  and  he  wanted  to  know  if  it  was 
true.  I  felt  that  I  was  on  my  honor  and  returned  Don 
Lucio's  gaze  as  steadfastly  as  the  occasion  would  permit, 
as  I  replied  that  there  was  such  a  people,  that  they  were 
still  bought  and  sold  in  some  countries,  and  that  in  their 
own  tierra  they  wore  no  clothes  at  all.  Don  Lucio  drew 
his  zarape  about  him  with  an  air  of  offended  modesty 
and  asked  if  their  tierra  was  near  there.  In  vain  I  cast 
about  for  some  means  of  enlightening  Don  Lucio  as  to 
the  dark  continent.  I  started  to  compare  it  with  South 
America,  but  found  that  would  n't  go.  Then  I  told  him 
it  was  many  times  larger  than  Mexico  but  Don  Lucio 
only  stared.  At  last  I  told  him  it  was  a  big  country 
over  the  sea  and  we  let  it  go  at  that. 

When  Don  Lucio  told  me  he  had  never  seen  the 
President's  portrait  and  asked  me  if  he  was  fine  looking, 
I  felt  that  my  duty  was  plain.  I  had  a  portrait  of  Pres- 
ident Diaz  in  my  trunk,  and  I  soon  had  the  ropes  untied 
and  Don  Lucio  was  gazing  in  rapture  on  the  face  of 
his  President.  He  exclaimed,  "  How  tall !  How  pow- 
erful !  "  admired  each  individual  medal  on  the  front  of 
the  General's  uniform  and  added  solemnly,  "  It  is  he 
who  commands  everything."  The  chickens  were  going 
to  roost  on  the  trees  near  the  door  and  Don  Lucio  said, 
"  May  you  pass  a  good  night ! "  and  retired,  literally 
too  full  for  further  utterance. 

"  Early  to  bed  and  early  to  rise  "  is  a  safe  motto  for 
mountain  travel.  While  Don  Lucio  was  admiring  the 
photograph,  Manuel  had  made  my  bed,  which  he  an- 
nounced was  ready  and  requested  me  to  lie  down  say- 
ing, "  I  will  cover  you  up  afterwards,  seiior."  I  started 
to  draw  off  my  boots  but  Manuel  flew  at  me  and  had 


298         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

them  off  in  a  jiffy.  He  then  proceeded  to  cover  me  up 
with  two  blankets  and  two  zarapes  each  of  which  he 
laid  on  separately,  tucking  them  well  about  me.  It  was 
quite  different  from  having  all  put  on  together.  Each 
one  seemed  to  strike  some  particular  spot,  where  it  was 
most  needed.  Seeing  him  preparing  to  go  to  bed  on 
the  floor  at  my  feet,  I  asked  him  why  he  did  n't  take  the 
other  cot;  but  he  said  he  preferred  the  ground.  I  must 
have  slept  an  hour  when  I  heard  a  hammering  on  the 
door  and  a  voice  shouting,  ''  Manuel !  Here  I  bring  a 
bed !  "  Manuel  only  grunted.  I  managed  to  strike  a 
match,  and  in  staggered  Don  Lucio,  with  a  mattress, 
sheets  and  pillows.  The  rain  had  stopped  and  the  kind- 
hearted  fellow  had  brought  me  the  best  he  had.  I  was 
so  heavy  with  sleep  I  began  thanking  him  in  English. 
Of  course  I  had  to  get  up  and  have  my  bed  made  over. 
I  was  quite  reluctant  at  the  time,  but  was  glad  enough  be- 
fore morning,  as  it  grew  very  cold. 

When  I  awoke  it  was  four  o'clock.  Manuel  had  started 
the  fire  and  gone  after  the  mules.  It  was  still  pitch  dark 
when  he  returned  with  them,  gave  them  their  corn  and 
commenced  getting  breakfast.  Don  Lucio  soon  ap- 
peared and  prophesied  a  good  day,  which  was  encourag- 
ing. The  animals  were  loaded  up  by  the  light  from  the 
fire  and  with  the  first  streaks  of  day,  we  were  ready  to 
start.  Don  Lucio  requested  a  mananita  (morning 
draught),  and  wished  me  felicidades  as  he  drained  the 
cup,  assuring  me  that  in  him  I  had  a  friend.  This  I 
knew  was  so:  that  in  future,  whenever  I  passed  that  way, 
Don  Lucio  was  good  for  a  roof  and  a  bed.  Of  course 
he  expected  some  small  favors  in  return,  but  they  were 
as  nothing  compared  with  benefits  received.  In  fact,  I 
find  the  rule  of  the  world  is  give  and  take;  and  Don 
Lucio's  demands  were  modest  ones.     As  he  shook  my 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  AIEXICO         299 

hand  he  said,  "  May  God  aid  you  in  your  journey,"  and 
with  this  kindly  farewell  we  rode  away.  It  was  nipping 
cold,  and  I  could  hear  the  mules'  feet  break  the  ice  in 
the  little  puddles  that  had  formed  in  the  trail.  When 
at  last  the  sun  rose,  I  saw  everything  coated  with  frost. 
The  tall,  dry  grass  on  either  side  of  the  trail  seemed 
tipped  with  red,  blue  and  yellow  diamonds :  every  tree 
had  a  glittering  mantle,  and  the  blackened  stumps  were 
set  with  brilliants.  We  were  ascending  the  mountain, 
and  the  valley  back  of  us  presented  a  beautiful  sight. 
The  mist  lay  close  to  the  earth,  a  deep,  intense  blue : 
higher  up,  where  the  sun  touched  it,  there  was  a  bank 
of  white  fleecy  cloud;  and  above  that,  the  pine-clad 
mountain.  Half  way  up  the  mountain  we  came  to  a  lit- 
tle pool,  close  to  the  trail  and  quite  frozen  over.  The 
first  mule  broke  the  ice  with  her  nose  and  all  the  animals 
drank  from  the  same  hole.  Gradually  as  the  sun  got 
higher,  I  began  shedding  coats  and  sweater ;  and  by  noon 
it  was  delightfully  warm.  We  stopped  for  dinner  near 
a  little  stream,  and  while  Manuel  was  cooking  I  took 
a  snap-shot  at  him.  He  had  tied  a  red  handkerchief 
over  his  head  for  the  cold  and  had  worn  it  all  day. 
Manuel  took  the  kodak  as  a  matter  of  course.  He  said 
all  the  senores  Americanos  have  mdqidnas  (machines) 
and  photograph  their  niozos  cooking,  walking  and  on 
horseback.  While  talking  about  the  various  Americanos 
he  had  traveled  with,  he  cut  a  bad  gash  in  his  thumb  with 
a  beef  tin  he  was  opening,  but  he  only  took  a  pinch  of 
earth  and  clapped  it  on  the  wound,  refusing  all  offers  to 
have  it  tied  up.  When  we  started  again  and  I  made  for 
the  trail,  Manuel  pointed  off  across  the  fields  and  gave 
me  a  pah  seco  (dry  tree)  to  steer  for.  On  reaching  it, 
I  saw  the  trail  again ;  he  assured  me  we  had  saved  a  good 
hour.     IManuel  was  famous  for  short  cuts  and  he  con- 


300         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

tinually  left  the  beaten  path  for  some  special  byway  of 
his  own.  He  said  he  grew  up  "  walking  in  the  moun- 
tains "  and  when  I  asked  him  how  many  times  he  had 
crossed  them,  he  said,  "  quien  sabe?"  but  he  thought 
more  than  a  hundred.  When  he  was  with  the  freighters, 
he  wore  sandals  and  walked  all  the  way.  But  now  that 
he  was  mozo  he  had  shoes,  though  his  sandals  were  tied 
on  the  back  of  his  saddle;  I  presumed  for  the  home 
trip. 

He  told  me  of  a  very  important  mission  he  went  on 
once,  when  he  was  only  fifteen  years  old.  A  rich  man 
in  Durango  sent  him  to  Mazatlan,  with  a  belt  filled  with 
gold  oncas:  he  did  n't  know  how  many,  but  it  was  heavy 
and  he  got  very  tired  of  wearing  it  next  his  skin,  night 
and  day.  Besides  he  had  mucho  miedo  (much  fear). 
He  bought  his  tortillas  and  beans  at  the  ranchos  in  the 
daytime  and  took  care  to  sleep  in  the  open,  where  he  was 
quite  alone.  When  people  asked  why  he  hurried  so,  he 
said,  "  My  father  is  dying  in  Mazatlan."  He  delivered 
his  charge  in  safety,  was  given  important  papers  and 
told  to  hurry  back.  He  returned  by  another  road  and 
when  the  people,  still  curious,  asked,  "  Why  so  fast?  "  he 
replied,   "  My   father  is   dying  in  Durango." 

We  went  into  camp  early  the  second  night,  after  riding 
about  ten  hours.  Manuel  said  it  was  too  cold  to  sleep  on 
the  ground,  and  as  we  reached  a  rancho  about  sundown, 
I  thought  best  to  stay  there.  There  was  plenty  of  water, 
but  no  grazing  for  the  animals,  and  I  paid  fifty  cents 
each  for  small  bunches  of  hoja  (dried  corn  stalks). 
When  I  rode  up  to  the  hacienda,  which  was  a  forlorn 
barracks  of  a  place,  a  girl  was  in  the  corral  feeding 
chickens.  I  asked  if  I  could  have  a  room  for  the  night 
and  at  first  she  said  no ;  but  finally  pointed  to  a  sort  of 
shed,  which   she   said  was   very   dirty,  but  was   at  my 


^^"^ 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         303 

disposal  if  I  cared  to  sleep  there.  Manuel  had  the  packs 
off  the  animals  at  short  order  and  began  cleaning  out 
the  shed.  The  girl  came  and  looked  on,  and,  though 
shy,  she  could  not  seem  to  tear  herself  away  from  the 
sound  of  human  voices.  It  seemed  unusual  to  find  a 
young  girl  quite  alone  in  such  a  place ;  but  her  replies 
to  my  inquiries  were  evasive.  The  caporal  and  serv- 
ants of  the  rancho  had  their  huts  at  some  distance  from 
the  main  buildings ;  and  not  one  of  them  paid  her  the 
slightest  attention.  I  asked  if  she  was  not  very  lonely 
and  she  said  yes ;  but  that  she  was  fond  of  animals  and 
that  she  amused  herself  during  the  day,  caring  for  the 
chickens  and  pigs;  at  night,  a  little  girl  from  the  serv- 
ants' quarters  came  to  stay  with  her,  but  she  had  not 
seen  her  all  day.  Ouien  sabe !  Perhaps  she  w^as  sick. 
I  bought  some  eggs  of  her  and  gave  her  some  tamales ; 
and  as  she  still  hovered  about  our  fire,  asked  her  to  eat 
supper  with  us.  She  accepted  with  alacrity,  saying  she 
had  no  fire  herself;  that  the  kitchen  was  full  of  pigs. 
There  were  several  new  families  of  young  pigs,  it  seemed, 
and,  fearing  a  storm,  she  had  shut  them  all  in  the 
kitchen.  She  immediately  began  helping  Manuel  get 
supper,  and  fried  the  eggs  in  a  deft  fashion  that  made 
him  open  his  eyes.  Manuel  fried  an  egg  all  right  on  one 
side;  then  he  attempted  to  flap  it  over  and  the  result 
was  a  strange  mess,  between  a  scramble  and  an  omelette. 
She  turned  them  as  lightly  as  she  would  a  feather,  and 
transferred  them  to  my  plate,  not  overdone,  but  just 
right  and  good  enough  to  eat.  Then  she  brought  from 
the  house  some  little  fried  corn  cakes,  like  diminutive 
doughnuts,  which  she  warmed  and  presented  to  me.  I 
was  sure  they  were  all  she  had  to  eat  on  the  rancho  ex- 
cept eggs.  She  refused  to  taste  a  morsel  till  I  had 
finished,  but  flitted  about,  bringing  me  hot  coffee  and 


304         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

more  corn  cakes,  and  keeping  up  a  constant  prattle,  like 
a  child  who  has  been  lonesome  and  is  bubbling  over  with 
delight  at  finding  companions.  At  last  she  bade  me 
good  night  and  promised  to  be  up  to  help  the  mozo  get 
breakfast,  and  to  bring  more  corn  cakes.  She  was  a 
slip  of  a  thing,  certainly  not  over  sixteen,  untidy  and 
wretched  looking,  but  with  a  bright,  honest  face,  and  a 
kind,  womanly  heart. 

The  sky  was  clear  and  bright  with  stars,  and  I  could 
hear  the  mules  munching  their  feed  in  the  corral  and 
the  blazing  fire  was  pleasant ;  but  Manuel,  who  was  wait- 
ing to  take  my  boots  off,  said,  "  It  is  time  now  to  sleep," 
and  I  obeyed !  He  had  fixed  one  blanket  to  his  satisfac- 
tion and  was  putting  on  the  second,  when  we  heard  wild 
yells  and  the  gallop  of  horses'  feet.  The  next  moment 
there  came  a  great  banging  on  the  door  and  a  voice  shout- 
ing, "  Open  the  door." 

"  I  go  immediately,"  answered  Manuel,  "  I  am  occu- 
pied at  this  moment."  Then  he  put  his  finger  to  his  lips 
for  me  to  remain  silent,  and  went  on  tucking  in  the 
blankets.  The  man  kept  on  banging  and  yelling  for  ad- 
mittance and  Manuel  kept  saying,  "  Immediately,  imme- 
diately !  "  At  last  he  went  and  unbarred  the  door  and 
said,  "  Walk  in."  Thinking  that  he  knew  what  he  was 
about,  I  adopted  the  role  of  the  Gringo  who  does  not 
speak  the  language  and  lay  staring  fixedly  at  them.  The 
fire-light  made  the  room  as  bright  as  day.  There  were 
three  men  in  the  party,  and  the  spokesman  was  quite 
drunk ;  but  the  others  seemed  steady  enough. 

"  You  come  out,"  they  said  to  Manuel,  and,  as  he  hesi- 
tated they  added,  "  You  're  afraid." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Manuel.  "  But  I  have  no  shoes  on : 
to  tell  you  the  truth,  I  was  just  going  to  bed." 

"  Who  is  your  patron?  "  they  asked. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         305 

"  He  is  a  senor  Americano  and  we  are  going  to  San 
Dimas,"  answered  Manuel,  adding,  "  and  he  is  very 
tired.     But  walk  in." 

"  No,"  said  the  men.  "  You  put  on  your  shoes  and 
come  with  us.     We  have  plenty  of  mescal." 

Then  Manuel  proved  himself  a  diplomat  of  the  first 
order.  Oh,  that  he  were  free  to  join  them !  He  did 
so  like  a  paseo  with  good  companions.  But  he  was  with 
his  patron  and  of  course  could  not  leave  him.  Some 
other  time  he  should  be  only  too  happy.  These  honeyed 
words  did  their  work.  The  bottle  was  passed  and 
Manuel  apparently  drank  long  and  deep.  Then  he  stood 
in  the  piercing  cold,  in  shirt  and  trousers  only,  bare- 
footed and  without  a  hat,  bowing  and  saluting  with  true 
Mexican  grace,  till  they  finally  got  into  their  saddles 
and  rode  away.  Manuel  closed  the  door  softly  and 
barred  it  with  extra  precaution.  Then  he  began  choking 
and  spitting  on  the  floor.  "How  bad  is  this  mescal!" 
he  said.  Then  he  proceeded  to  muffle  his  head  in  his 
blanket,  and,  leaving  his  feet  to  take  care  of  themselves, 
went  to  sleep  without  more  ado. 

I  was  awakened  by  a  rat  who  was  making  his  break- 
fast off  one  of  my  boots.  It  was  four  o'clock  and  I 
called  Manuel.  There  was  a  thick  fog  and  it  was  dark 
as  midnight.  I  always  felt  rather  sorry  for  him  when 
he  started  off  at  this  hour,  it  was  so  intensely  cold ; 
but  he  did  n't  seem  to  mind  it.  I  awoke  from  a  doze 
and  heard  him  calling,  "  Voy,  seiior  "  (I  go)  as  though 
I  had  called  him.  It  was  the  second  time  this  had  hap- 
pened, and  both  times  it  had  been  at  this  dismal  hour  in 
the  early  morning.  Before,  when  I  said  I  had  not  ad- 
dressed him,  he  looked  scared ;  so  this  time  I  let  it  go 
and  asked  if  he  had  all  the  mules:  as  though  Manuel 
would  come  back  without  them  all.     He  handled  them 


3o6         THE  MAN  WHO  UKES  MEXICO 

like  kittens,  with  funny  whistles  and  hissing  noises  which 
they  understood.  We  made  a  quick  breakfast  on  tor- 
tillas and  coffee,  as  we  had  a  long  day's  march  ahead ; 
and  could  barely  distinguish  the  lines  of  the  hacienda 
buildings  as  we  started  off  into  a  sea  of  fog.  Soon  it 
began  to  grow  light.  We  were  ascending  the  mountains 
again,  and  we  left  the  mist  below  us  in  the  valley  like  a 
great  inland  sea.  By  nine  o'clock  we  were  reveling  in 
sunshine  and  the  glories  of  Mexico's  mountains,  with 
their  lights  and  shadows,  and  endless  vistas  of  blue-clad 
heights  beyond.  On  the  loftier  peaks  there  was  snow, 
and  as  we  went  up  and  up,  it  lay  in  patches  by  the  trail, 
till  we  crossed  the  summit,  about  10,000  feet  above  sea 
level,  and  dipped  into  another  lovely  valley.  It  was 
eleven  o'clock  and  I  was  ravenous ;  so  we  stopped  for 
almuerzo,  as  Manuel  calls  it,  by  a  little  stream,  whose 
waters  were  clear  as  crystal  and  cold  as  melted  ice,  which 
they  really  were.  Manuel  concocted  a  remarkable  dish 
of  canned  beef  and  breakfast  bacon,  which  looked  greasy 
and  uninteresting  but  had  a  fetching  smell,  and  a  seduc- 
tive flavor.  I  found  oranges  and  lemons  invaluable  on 
this  trip.  They  became  ice-cold  at  night  and  retained  the 
cold  through  the  heat  of  the  day.  With  a  bit  of  sugar 
and  a  dash  of  tequila  they  made  a  delicious  punch  at  mid- 
day ;  and  at  night,  when  the  cold  makes  a  fellow  shake  in 
his  boots,  this  same  punch,  boiled  over  the  coals,  is  a  fine 
night-cap.  The  gordas  and  tamales  were  disappearing 
slowly  but  surely.  They  seemed  an  impossible  under- 
taking, but  one  never  knows  how  much  he  can  eat  till  he 
gets  into  the  mountains. 

Soon  after  midday  we  took  the  trail  again.  The  only 
human  beings  we  saw  that  day  were  a  woman  and  some 
children  at  a  little  hut.  I  took  a  picture  of  them,  but 
could  not  get  very  near  as  they  bad  already  caught  sight 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         307 

of  the  black  box  and  started  to  scamper  away.  There 
was  no  rancho  in  sight  at  sundown,  so  we  camped  under 
a  big  rock.  I  had  a  bed  of  pine  boughs,  and  the  pines 
formed  a  roof  overhead.  Manuel  was  busy  cooking: 
he  still  had  the  red  handkerchief  over  his  head  and  was 
whistling  for  the  first  time.  He  seemed  to  like  the  open 
as  well  as  I  did.  Ranchos  are  very  well,  but  for  real 
luxury,  give  me  a  supper  by  the  camp-fire,  a  piney  couch, 
and  sound,  sweep  sleep  beneath  the  stars. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A  Night  at  Hotel  Japones :  Fear  of  a  Storm:  An  Early  Start: 
A  Mountain  Rancho :  Mountain  Hospitality :  Recreant 
Mules:  Forlorn  Indian  Family:  Charm  of  Mountain  Travel: 
The  Last  Descent :  "  El  Capitan " :  Manuel  Sings  as  the 
Journey  Ends:  Magnolias:  A  Meeting  With  Bob:  Home 
Again :  The  Holidays  at  the  Mines :  Serenade  and  Midnight 
Mass :  The  First  Wheelbarrow :  Christmas  Dinner :  A  Mex- 
ican Ball :     The  Bandit  Eracleo  Bernal. 

FROM  the  first  rainy  day,  we  had  glorious 
weather ;  and  Manuel  said  many  times,  "  God 
favors  us  in  the  weather,  seiior."  The  previous 
night  when  I  fell  asleep  it  was  bright  starlight  and  the 
moon  was  just  coming  up.  I  awoke  at  two  o'clock  to 
find  the  sky  overcast,  and  an  ominous  ring  around  the 
moon.  At  this  season,  rain  in  the  low  country  is  apt 
to  mean  snow  in  the  mountains ;  and  then  one  who  does 
not  know  the  trail  is  likely  to  go  astray.  The  fire  was 
smoldering  and  as  Manuel  was  sleeping  heavily,  I  got 
up  and  threw  on  a  log,  determining  to  let  him  sleep  till 
three  o'clock.  When  the  hour  was  up  I  called  him. 
He  gave  one  glance  at  the  sky  and  with  a  low  "  a  Dios !  " 
started  off  in  search  of  the  mules.  Soon  I  heard  them 
come  thudding  along:  he  had  hobbled  them  all,  and 
they  hopped  up  to  the  fire  and  stood  regarding  it,  like 
large,  sad-eyed  rabbits.  Manuel  gave  them  their  corn 
and  then  began  getting  breakfast.  In  spite  of  the  lower- 
ing sky  and  the  prospect  of  a  long,  hard  ride,  there  was 
a  fascination  in  it  all :  the  blazing  fire,  the  towering  rocks 

308 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         309 

and  pine  trees,  the  animals  feeding,  and  Manuel  brew- 
ing a  fragrant  pot  of  coffee.  Beyond  the  ring  of  fire- 
light, the  dark  forest,  and  probably  not  another  soul 
within  a  radius  of  fifty  miles ! 

When  at  last  the  mules  were  ready  there  was  no  sign 
of  daylight.  Manuel  tied  the  two  pack-animals  together 
and  struck  off  into  the  darkness,  leading  the  foremost 
one.  I  brought  up  the  rear,  as  I  had  not  the  faintest 
idea  where  the  trail  lay.  We  turned  for  a  last  look  at 
our  cheerful  camp-fire  and  Manuel  said,  "  Adios,  Hotel 
Japones."  This  was  Manuel's  little  joke.  I  asked  why 
he  called  it  the  "  Japanese  Hotel ! "  and  he  explained. 
The  night  before  when  he  was  getting  supper  I  sug- 
gested that  he  cut  the  plain  tamales  in  strips  and  fry 
them  in  bacon  fat,  as  they  had  become  cold  and  soggy. 
I  could  see  that  he  did  n't  approve  of  my  scheme,  but  it 
proved  a  success ;  the  result  being  the  equivalent  of  fried 
corn  mush.  Manuel  pronounced  it  mucho  muy  bueiio 
(very,  very  good),  and  ate  a  great  deal  of  it.  He  now 
informed  me  that  los  Chinos  were  excellent  cooks ;  and 
that  owing  to  our  successful  culinary  achievements  of  last 
night,  he  had  christened  the  camp,  "  Japanese  Hotel." 
I  started  to  explain  to  him  that  the  Chinese  did  n't  come 
from  Japan ;  but  at  that  moment  the  pack-mules  went  on 
different  sides  of  the  same  tree.  The  hind  one  reared 
and  broke  away  and  I  expected  to  see  her  bolt;  but 
Manuel  said,  "  Sh-h-h  Mula  bonita  "  (Beautiful  mule), 
and  she  stood  still.  The  damaged  reata  was  repaired, 
and  on  we  went  in  the  darkness,  climbing  steep  hills, 
descending  hills  that  seemed  steeper,  crossing  mesas  and 
fording  streams.  I  was  wondering  how  Manuel  could 
know  where  he  was  going  when  the  mystery  was  ex- 
plained. He  asked  me  if  I  thought  we  were  going  in 
the  right  direction.     I  said  I  didn't  know,  but  I  pre- 


310         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

sumed  he  knew  the  trail  as  well  as  I  did  the  streets  of 
Durango.  He  replied  that  he  did  by  day,  but  that  now 
he  was  relying  entirely  on  his  mule:  that  she  knew  the 
way  perfectly,  and  that  he  was  not  guiding  her  at  all, 
but  letting  her  go  as  she  wished.  I  asked  if  he  thought 
we  were  right,  and  he  said  he  did  not  remember  the 
last  hill;  but  that  he  could  not  be  sure  till  daylight. 
Then  he  told  me  something  that  had  happened  only  a 
short  time  before,  showing  how  easy  it  is  to  get  lost  at 
night.  He  was  driving  a  number  of  pack-mules,  and 
stopped  to  fix  one  of  the  packs.  Meantime  the  others 
wandered  from  the  trail  to  feed.  When  he  finally  got 
them  together,  he  was  completely  turned  around,  and 
search  as  he  might  could  not  find  the  trail.  At  last  he 
unloaded  his  mules  and  hobbled  them,  built  a  fire,  and 
sat  there  until  morning,  when  he  discovered  the  trail, 
within  a  few  feet  of  where  he  was  sitting. 

It  was  so  cold,  we  had  to  get  off  our  animals  and  walk 
to  set  the  blood  going  and  when  the  dawn  came  at  last, 
Manuel  was  still  uncertain.  He  said  we  should  be  on 
the  Guitarra  Rancho  and  that  when  we  saw  mares 
and  colts  we  should  know  we  were  all  right.  I  told  him 
when  we  saw  them,  he  should  have  some  tequila,  and 
at  sight  of  a  band  of  brood  mares,  I  got  out  my  flask. 
"A  long  life  and  many  boys!"  I  said  to  Manuel,  as  I 
swallowed  a  generous  portion.  Then  I  poured  out  some 
for  him  and  the  toast  evidently  had  pleased  him.  He 
grinned  and  wished  me  happiness,  and  added  that  when 
I  was  ready  to  make  the  return  trip,  if  I  would  only  send 
him  word  he  would  come  at  once  to  fetch  me.  It  did  n't 
occur  to  me  until  some  time  after  that  I  should  have 
toasted  Manuel's  mule.  At  nine  o'clock  we  arrived  at  the 
hacienda  of  "  La  Guitarra  "  and  stopped  to  salute  the 
sehora,  whom  I  had  met  on  a  previous  journey.     She 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         311 

sent  a  young  lad  into  the  corral  with  two  big  earthern 
mugs,  and  he  came  back  with  them  foaming  to  the  brim 
with  delicious  milk ;  he  had  milked  into  the  mugs.  They 
told  us  we  could  barely  make  the  Rancho  San  Miguel  by 
sundown,  as  there  was  lots  of  snow  before  us  and  the 
going  was  bad.  By  this  time  the  sun  was  shining  and 
my  spirits  rose.  As  we  got  up  into  the  mountains  we 
found  snow  in  abundance,  and  rode  over  it  for  several 
hours.  It  averaged  three  inches  on  the  trail,  and  in 
many  places  it  lay  fully  six  inches  deep.  The  mules  were 
not  afraid  of  it,  as  they  had  seen  it  many  times ;  but 
we  had  to  keep  stopping  to  dig  it  out  of  their  hoofs, 
where  it  formed  hard  balls,  making  them  slide  and 
stumble,  and  our  progress  was  necessarily  slow. 
Manuel  said  that  once  when  he  was  with  a  pack  train, 
the  snow  was  so  deep  they  had  to  go  ahead  with  shovels 
and  clear  the  trail.  I  snapped  him  with  the  pack-mules, 
as  they  jogged  along  across  the  snowy  plain ;  and  later 
in  a  picturesque  canon,  where  he  actually  shed  his 
zarape  for  the  heat.  This  latter  picture  was  really  taken 
for  "  El  Capitan,"  my  sturdy  little  mule,  who  would  take 
the  lead  in  the  early  morning  and  keep  it  till  nightfall, 
never  relaxing  his  gentle  pace,  till  one  of  the  pack-animals 
attempted  to  pass  him,  when  he  would  strike  a  jog  trot, 
and  keep  it  up  until  he  had  distanced  the  presuming  pack- 
mule.  When  I  asked  Manuel  what  his  name  was,  he 
said  he  had  no  name,  but  they  called  him  "  El  Capitan  " 
because  he  always  led  the  pack-mules,  and  would  never 
resign  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  procession.  "  El 
Capitan "  was  a  pack-mule,  when  he  worked  at  his 
regular  calling,  carrying  as  high  as  eighteen  arrobas  (450 
lbs.)  so  that  his  present  job  was  a  perfect  sinecure. 

We  stopped  for  an  early  luncheon  after  riding  seven 
hours.     We  were  just  getting  through,  when  we  heard 


312         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

the  cries  of  arricros  (freighters),  and  a  pack  train  came 
in  sight.  The  chief  proved  to  be  a  friend  of  Manuel's. 
As  they  shook  hands  the  latter  exclaimed,  "  Jose,  man, 
I  bring  thee  good  news.  I  saw  thy  father  on  Sunday: 
he  was  well  and  hearty."  In  return  for  this  bit  of  in- 
telligence, Jose  pitched  in  and  helped  him  load  the  cargas. 
He  was  a  fine  stalwart  fellow,  light  enough  for  a  Saxon, 
with  big,  honest  eyes,  and  a  face  tranquil  as  a  child's, 
utterly  unmarked  by  the  feverish  struggle  that  stamps 
the  dwellers  in  cities.  He  was  a  btien  muchacho  (good 
boy),  Manuel  said,  and  his  pack-mules  were  a  gift  from 
his  Mexican  master,  as  a  reward  for  faithful  service. 
They  shouted  to  each  other,  long  after  we  had  separated ; 
and  when  the  arriero's  voice  was  scarcely  audible,  Manuel 
still  understood  and  answered  back. 

During  the  afternoon,  the  trail  became  more  and  more 
precipitous,  and  the  country  was  wildly  picturesque.  The 
rock  formations  in  this  section  are  wonderfully  grotesque, 
and  I  believe  unequaled  anywhere  on  this  continent,  save 
in  Colorado.  In  fact,  I  imagine  we  have  little  scenery  to 
compare  in  grandeur  with  that  of  northern  Durango, 
except  perhaps  Colorado,  Yellowstone  Park  and  the 
Yosemite.  My  first  acquaintance  with  Mexico  was  in 
this  state,  and  as  I  journeyed  southward,  though  the 
scenery  is  very  beautiful,  I  noticed  a  certain  softness 
of  contour  that  seemed  almost  tame,  after  the  rugged 
mountains  of  Durango.  On  reaching  one  of  the  highest 
summits,  we  saw  far  off,  on  the  brow  of  another  hill, 
a  lofty  pile  of  rock  that  looked  like  the  medieval  castle 
of  some  robber-baron,  with  frowning  parapets  and  count- 
less towers  silhouetted  against  the  red  sky.  Manuel 
said  it  was  "  el  Castillo  de  Chapultepec,"  where  once 
lived  the  king  of  the  Indians.  I  asked  if  he  had  ever 
heard   of    Cuauhtemoc,   but   he    said    he    had    not,    and 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         313 

asked  who  he  was.  Alas  for  the  fame  of  the  Aztec 
emperor ! 

Just  as  the  sun  was  disappearing,  we  entered  on  a 
smooth  tableland,  where  cattle  were  feeding,  and  knew 
our  ride  was  nearly  over.  The  cattle  in  these  mountains 
have  the  finest,  softest  coats  I  have  ever  seen,  a  regular 
fur  in  fact.  Many  are  black  and  white,  and  their  colors 
are  literally  snow  and  ebony.  The  cows  are  wild-eyed 
and  timid,  quite  different  from  the  placid  creatures  we 
are  accustomed  to.  Their  udders  are  extremely  small 
and  they  can  seldom  be  milked  without  hobbling  the 
hind  legs.  It  is  a  funny  sight  to  see  a  wild-looking 
ranchero,  half-vaquero,  half -bandit,  with  pistol  at  belt, 
huge  hat  and  jingling  spurs,  putting  a  rope  on  the  hind 
legs  of  a  cow,  and  then  holding  the  pail  on  one  side, 
while  the  woman  milks  from  the  other.  I  was  revelling 
in  anticipation  of  fresh  milk  and  cheese,  when  we  came 
in  sight  of  the  ranch-house. 

The  owners  were  two  bachelor  brothers,  Don  Bias 
and  Don  Luis,  both  kindly,  hospitable  souls.  The 
former  was  away  on  a  journey,  but  the  latter  gave  us  a 
most  hearty  welcome.  The  house  was  presided  over  by 
a  sister,  and  there  was  a  younger  brother  on  a  visit, 
with  his  sick  wife  and  large  family  of  children.  Don 
Luis  said  the  place  was  very  lonely  till  the  children 
came  and  he  called  them  " rayos  del  sol"  (rays  of  the 
sun).  There  was  one  rosy-cheeked  youngster  of  five, 
who  was  forever  clinging  to  his  hand,  and  I  could  see  that 
he  and  his  uncle  were  great  cronies.  We  had  a  delicious 
supper  and  then  went  and  sat  near  the  huge  bonfire 
which  Don  Luis  had  built  before  the  house.  Soon  I 
was  glad  to  seek  the  cot-bed  in  Don  Luis's  room,  which 
Manuel  had  made  up  with  my  blankets,  and  a  little 
pillow  in  snowy,  embroidered  cover,  sent  by  the  senora. 


314         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

Don  Luis  said  there  was  plenty  of  snow  ahead  of  us 
in  the  mountains,  and  advised  an  early  start,  that  we 
might  cross  the  last  summit,  which  was  frightfully  cold 
at  night,  and  get  into  the  valley  before  sundown. 

I  called  Manuel  at  four  o'clock  the  next  morning  and 
told  him  to  go  for  the  animals.  Lie  said  he  was  afraid  of 
a  fierce  dog  who  guarded  the  house  at  night ;  so  the 
good  Don  Luis  dressed  hurriedly  and  went  out  to  tie  up 
the  dog.  I  was  shaking  with  the  cold  in  spite  of  my 
two  heavy  blankets,  overcoat  and  sweater,  and  was  glad 
enough  to  turn  out  and  go  to  the  fire  which  was  soon 
blazing  in  the  yard.  I  found  some  cofifee  and  tamales 
and  with  the  aid  of  Don  Luis  we  soon  had  breakfast 
under  way.  The  rosy-cheeked  boy  insisted  on  being 
dressed,  and  came  and  nestled  under  his  uncle's  great 
cloak.  That  boy  had  a  bit  of  everything  going.  We 
were  short  of  coffee  cups,  and  he  and  his  uncle  had  one 
between  them :  first  the  man  took  a  sip  and  then  the  boy, 
and  the  cup  went  back  and  forth  from  one  to  the  other, 
till  it  was  time  to  fill  it  again. 

It  began  to  grow  light  and  still  no  sign  of  Manuel. 
The  sun  rose  and  the  business  of  the  day  began,  but 
Manuel  did  not  appear.  Meantime  I  had  ample  op- 
portunity to  survey  the  premises.  The  house  was  the 
most  comfortable  one  I  had  seen  since  I  left  Durango, 
with  snug  corral  and  outbuildings :  and  there  was  a  tiny 
chapel  of  adobe,  with  a  quaint  little  wooden  tower,  and 
a  sweet-toned  bell.  Don  Luis  said  he  and  his  brothers 
built  it :  the  padre  came  at  most,  twice  a  year ;  but  it  was 
always  open  on  Sundays  and  when  visitors  were  there. 
At  half  after  eight,  Manuel  hove  in  sight,  behind  four 
innocent-looking  mules.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  they 
were  hobbled,  they  had  managed  to  make  a  long  distance 
on  the  home  trail,  and  he  had  tracked  them  many  miles, 


Manuel  with  pack-mules  on  the  snow.      Altitude, 
about  10,000  feet 


El  Capitan 


THE  MAN  WHO  LHvES  MEXICO         317 

before  coming  up  with  them.  Of  course  I  could  not 
blame  Manuel ;  but  I  told  him  we  would  make  a  hearty 
breakfast  and  take  lunch  in  the  saddle,  not  stopping  till 
we  reached  our  destination. 

While  we  were  making  ready  to  start,  a  forlorn  In- 
dian woman  came  to  the  house.  She  with  her  man  and 
child  had  been  caught  in  the  snow,  with  thin  cotton 
clothing  and  bare  feet  protected  only  by  sandals.  They 
were  endeavoring  to  cross  the  mountains  when  the  storm 
came,  and  had  taken  refuge  in  a  cave  near  the  rancho. 
The  woman  had  a  frightened  look,  like  a  wild  thing 
caught  in  a  trap ;  and  the  half-starved  child  clinging  to 
her  skirt  was  a  pitiable  little  object. 

It  was  nine  o'clock  when  we  took  the  trail,  and  soon 
we  were  on  the  snow  again.  Traveling  was  slow  work, 
but  I  was  determined  not  to  spend  the  night  on  that 
cold  mountain,  no  matter  what  the  hour  of  our  arrival. 
I  knew  the  descent  was  hard  and  dangerous,  but  the  moon 
was  nearly  full,  and  I  hoped  it  would  light  the  trail. 
Whatever  the  hardships  of  a  ride  in  Durango's  moun- 
tains, the  delights  more  than  atone  for  them  all.  I  can- 
not describe  the  charm  of  those  endless  forests  of  pine, 
of  the  wonderful  glimpses  at  intervals  from  the  trail, 
of  sun-bright  valleys  and  distant,  blue-veiled  peaks,  and 
the  dazzling  green  of  the  pines  against  the  snow.  It  is 
all  too  beautiful  for  words,  and  the  most  I  can  say  is, 
it  bestows  a  strange,  dreamy  sort  of  happiness,  with  for- 
getfulness  of  old  troubles,  disregard  for  what  the  future 
may  hold,  and  the  full  power  to  live  for  and  enjoy  the 
present. 

When  we  reached  the  last  summit  the  sun  was  gone, 
but  the  moon  was  bright  overhead.  Then  began  the  steep 
descent.  "  El  Capitan "  leaped,  stumbled  and  slid  in 
almost  a  sitting  position,  but  he  never  lost  his  head  nor 


3i8         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

his  feet.  He  knew  that  trail  like  a  bag  of  corn  and  he 
was  merely  getting  over  it  the  easiest  way.  Manuel 
kept  close  behind  and  said  again  and  again  to  one  or 
the  other  of  his  pack-mules,  "  Mula  bonita !  Vuelva  a 
trabajar!"  (Beautiful  mule!  Return  to  your  work!) 
In  some  places,  the  trail  was  light;  but  in  others  where 
the  trees  overhung,  it  was  quite  dark.  I  gave  "  El 
Capitan "  his  head,  feeling  perfect  confidence  in  his 
ability  to  land  me  at  the  door  of  my  good  friend  Don 
Jesus,  whose  casa  was  still  several  thousand  feet  below. 
As  we  went  down  and  down,  the  air  became  soft  and 
languorous,  and  occasionally  the  wind  brought  the  strong, 
sweet  odor  of  magnolias.  Manuel  began  singing  a  plain- 
tive air,  in  his  soft  Indian  voice.  It  was  the  first  time 
he  had  sung  and  for  the  moment  I  was  vexed  with  him. 
As  I  have  said  before,  I  like  a  singing  mozo.  Then  I 
thought  of  the  reason.  He  was  a  mere  boy,  not  over 
twenty-two  at  most,  and  all  the  responsibility  of  the  trip, 
not  only  of  the  mules  and  cargas,  but  of  our  lives  as 
well,  had  been  upon  him.  No  wonder  he  sang,  now  that 
the  end  of  his  labor  was  in  sight.  So  we  rode  on  through 
the  sweet-scented  air,  Manuel  still  singing,  till  we  en- 
tered the  little  pueblo  of  Carboneros  and  stopped  before 
a  white-walled  cottage.  Manuel  called  out,  "  Here  is  a 
sehor  I  "  and  the  next  moment  Don  Jesus  was  shaking  me 
by  the  hand.  The  supper  table  had  just  been  laid  in  the 
broad  veranda,  and  Don  Jesus  said  I  had  come  in  good 
time.  Soon  we  were  seated  and  he  was  telling  me  of  my 
friends  only  six  hours  away ;  how  they  had  sent  mozos 
for  the  last  two  days  to  the  summit  to  look  for  me,  and 
they  themselves  had  waited  at  his  house  until  nightfall. 
I  felt  tempted  to  ask  for  the  loan  of  a  fresh  animal,  and 
push  on  to  join  them ;  but  it  would  be  after  midnight 
when   I   arrived,  there   was   an   arroyo  that   had   to   be 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         319 

crossed  twenty  times,  and  besides  I  felt  a  bit  shaky 
about  the  legs.  It  was  the  eve  of  Our  Lady  of  Guada- 
lupe. The  main  room  had  been  arranged  as  a  chapel, 
with  an  altar  and  lights,  and  trimmed  with  evergreens. 
The  women  were  singing  and  their  voices  had  a  soothing 
sound.  But  I  went  to  my  bed  reluctantly.  Such  is  the 
unreasonableness  of  human  nature,  after  two  years' 
absence,  those  few  intervening  hours  that  kept  me  from 
my  friends  seemed  interminable. 

When  I  awoke  the  following  morning,  the  sun  was 
streaming  into  my  room.  I  had  slept  ten  hours ;  but  I 
felt  it  was  no  more  than  my  due  after  averaging  as  many 
in  the  saddle,  for  the  past  four  successive  days.  Manuel 
looked  rather  sheepish  when  I  found  him  in  the  corral, 
but  I  did  n't  say  anything  more  severe  than,  "  Andale !  " 
(Hurry!)  Soon  we  were  on  our  way  again,  winding 
down  the  mountain.  The  scene  was  beautiful,  with  the 
note  of  industry  supplied  by  a  thriving  mining  locality. 
Below  us  lay  the  little  town  of  San  Dimas,  and  on  the 
mountain  side  I  could  see  the  site  of  the  famous  Can- 
delaria  Mine  which,  since  the  early  Spanish  days,  has 
produced  incalculable  treasures.  Bob,  who  had  now 
risen  to  the  position  of  manager  of  the  hacienda,  met 
me  on  the  trail.  He  had  come  out  to  greet  me,  and  as 
we  rode  we  recalled  the  events  of  our  first  meeting,  of 
our  stay  in  Durango  and  the  ride  over  the  mountains. 
Bob  rode  with  me  far  beyond  San  Dimas,  and  then 
turned  back  with  the  promise  that  we  should  meet  on 
Christmas.  I  spurred  "  El  Capitan  "  across  the  arroyo, 
and  with  Manuel  following  close  behind,  set  out  on  my 
last  hour's  ride  to  "  La  Puerta,"  where  my  friends 
awaited  me.  The  remaining  distance  was  soon  covered 
and  on  rounding  a  bend  in  the  arroyo  I  saw  the  quaint 
old  hacienda,  with  the  little  church,  abandoned  for  cen- 


320         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

tiiries,  and  now  converted  into  a  charming  American 
home.  Don  Alfredo  and  Dona  Marciana  awaited  me  at 
its  hospitable  portals, —  but  why  attempt  to  describe  a 
meeting  with  friends,  than  which  I  have  experienced 
no  greater  happiness.  We  talked  late  that  night,  and 
dwelt  long  on  those  old  days  in  the  beautiful  valley  of 
Huahuapan,  before  I  left  the  camp. 

Christmas  was  now  close  at  hand,  and  the  Americans 
throughout  the  San  Dimas  mining  district  were  preparing 
to  make  it,  as  much  as  was  possible,  a  home  celebration. 
In  Mexico,  as  in  all  Catholic  countries,  the  religious  cele- 
bration begins  on  Christmas  eve,  which  is  called  Noche 
Biicna  or  "  Good  Night " ;  and  it  is  then  the  country 
people  seek  the  towns  and  cities.  The  highway  from 
Mazatlan  to  the  San  Dimas  mining  district  lies  straight 
up  the  caiion  of  the  Piaxtla  River  and  the  San  Dimas 
Arroyo.  This  is  during  the  dry  season,  when  the  river 
is  low.  In  the  rainy  months,  travelers  must  take  the 
road  over  the  mountains,  which  means  a  journey  of 
nine  days  or  more.  The  trip  down  the  river  is  made  in 
from  three  to  four  days.  "  La  Puerta,"  where  I  was 
staying,  is  directly  on  the  river ;  and  all  day  on  the  Sun- 
day preceding  Christmas  we  saw  the  people  coming 
from  the  pueblos  farther  down  and  from  the  mountain 
ranchos  to  San  Dimas,  which  is  a  good  three  hours'  ride 
above  "  La  Puerta  "  and  which  is  always  the  center  of 
festivities.  The  well-to-do  man  and  his  family  were 
on  horseback ;  the  seiioras  and  senoritas  in  huge  hats 
and  muffled  to  the  eyes  in  white  linen  rebozos,  to  keep 
out  the  heat.  They  were  always  accompanied  by  one  or 
more  pack-animals  with  trunks ;  for  there  was  to  be  a 
ball  on  Christmas  night,  and  the  fair  ones  carried  their 
party  dresses  with  them. 

The  peones  and  their  families  were  on   foot,  and  as 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         321 

they  had  to  ford  the  stream  many  times,  often  where 
it  was  waist-deep,  all  were  prepared  for  wading.  Every 
man  carried  a  pack,  and  it  was  not  infrequently  sur- 
mounted by  a  chubby  child,  who  surveyed  the  sights 
with  round,  wondering  eyes,  from  the  vantage-point  on 
its  father's  broad  shoulders.  The  peones  of  this  sec- 
tion are  nearly  all  mountain  men,  and  a  hardy,  rugged 
set.  There  are  many  bright,  intelligent  faces  among 
them,  often  distinctly  European  in  cast.  Like  all  peones, 
they  are  trained  to  carry  immense  loads,  either  on  their 
backs  or  balanced  on  their  heads.  When  iron  wheel- 
barrows were  first  introduced  into  Candelaria  mine,  in 
place  of  the  leather  sack,  in  which  the  ore  had  always 
been  carried,  a  brawny  peon  was  directed  to  fill  a  barrow, 
and  wheel  it  to  the  ore  patio.  He  piled  it  high  with  rock, 
eyed  it  dubiously  for  a  moment,  and  then  seizing  it, 
lifted  it  on  his  head,  and  trotted  away  with  it.  An- 
other peon  carried  a  Burley  drill,  weighing  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  six  hundred  pounds,  from  the  hacienda  to 
the  mine,  over  a  very  steep  trail  that  is  covered  on 
mule-back  in  about  an  hour.  The  hacienda  boasts  a 
piano,  probably  the  only  one  that  side  of  IMazatlan, 
which  was  carried  all  the  way  from  the  coast  on  the 
shoulders  of  peones. 

When  we  arrived  at  San  Dimas  on  Christmas  eve 
we  found  it  en  fete ;  that  is  the  shops  were  closed,  hand 
organs  were  playing  and  nearly  every  peon  had  a  bottle 
of  mescal.  The  men  were  given  full  license  until  Christ- 
mas night,  so  long  as  there  was  no  fighting.  The  worst 
that  could  happen  to  an  inebriate  was  being  conveyed 
to  the  jail  and  allowed  to  sleep  it  off,  when  he  was  at 
once  given  his  liberty  with  the  privilege  of  getting  drunk 
all  over  again. 

On  Christmas  eve  a  string  band  played  on  the  plaza, 
16 


322         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

which  is  a  wide  street,  one  square  in  length,  where  the 
people  promenade.  This  place  also  serves  as  theater, 
when  a  wandering  operetta  company  comes  to  the  town, 
a  stage  being  erected  at  one  end  and  a  canvas  stretched 
over  the  street  for  a  roof.  The  audience  bring  their 
own  chairs  and  primitive  comforts  by  no  means  interfere 
with  their  enjoyment. 

The  band  played  till  half-past  eleven,  when  the  bells 
began  ringing  for  midnight  mass.  We  found  the  little 
church  full  of  people  on  their  knees,  and  the  altar  boys 
engaged  in  lighting  the  candles.  The  band  had  pre- 
ceded us  and  was  playing  the  mass,  which  was  sung  by 
men  and  boys,  some  with  very  good  voices.  I  preferred 
to  remain  outside,  and  watch  the  dark  forms  gliding 
from  the  shadow  into  the  light  that  streamed  from  the 
church  door,  sometimes  to  enter,  again  only  to  kneel 
and  cross  themselves.  Many  were  quite  unsteady  on  their 
legs,  but  there  were  few,  who  could  walk,  that  did  not 
stumble  at  least  to  the  door,  before  morning. 

Christmas  day  was  hot  and  all  seemed  inclined  to  save 
themselves  for  the  ball.  The  people  kept  up  their  fest- 
tivities,  as  they  knew  that  at  ten  o'clock  that  night  their 
holiday  was  over  so  far  as  carousing  was  concerned,  and 
they  must  all  be  in  their  homes.  The  creatures  are 
naturally  such  a  mild,  peaceful  set,  it  is  impossible  not 
to  like  them.  The  danger  comes,  when  crazed  with 
mescal,  a  disgusto  arises,  and  out  comes  the  ugly  knife. 
In  San  Dimas  neither  knives  nor  pistols  are  allowed, 
hence  casualties  are  reduced  to  a  minimum. 

At  four  o'clock  there  was  a  dinner  at  the  hacienda 
and  eighteen  people  sat  down  at  table.  There  were  a 
Mexican,  a  German,  an  Englishman,  a  Hungarian,  and 
Americans  completed  the  party.  It  was  hard  to  realize 
we  were  five  days  from  the  railroad,  with  such  a  varied 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         323 

menu,  and  when  the  mince  pie  and  fruit  pudding  ap- 
peared it  seemed  a  sure-enough  Christmas  dinner.  At 
six  o'clock  the  ladies  withdrew,  and  we  organized  an 
impromptu  quartette,  and  sang  old-time  songs  till  at 
last  they  reappeared  in  simple,  white  muslin  frocks.  I 
doubt  if  the  most  elaborate  ball  dress  ever  created  a 
more  profound  sensation.  Imagine  a  typical  mining 
camp,  with  all  its  accompanying  dust  and  grind,  and 
then  set  down  in  the  midst  a  fair,  winsome  American 
girl,  in  a  flufify,  puffy,  fleecy  white  gown. 

The  dance  was  given  in  the  school-house.  The  floor 
had  been  canvassed  and  the  room  was  hung  in  trans- 
parent red,  white  and  green  stuff.  There  were  masses 
of  fragrant  pine  branches  piled  high  in  the  corridor 
and  before  the  musicians,  and  before  the  cantina  (bar). 
There  were  lots  of  pretty  Mexican  girls  and  the  music 
was  excellent.  The  favorite  dances  were  waltz,  polka, 
schottische  and  the  Mexican  danza.  The  latter,  which 
is  also  known  as  the  "  love  dance,"  is  thoroughly  char- 
acteristic. The  music  is  very  soft  and  very  slow.  The 
youth  holds  his  partner,  presumably  his  novia,  as  though 
for  a  waltz,  but  the  nearest  approach  to  waltzing  is  a 
slow,  gliding  walk,  which  they  keep  in  unison,  some- 
times seeming  scarcely  to  move ;  meantime  he  gazes  deep 
into  her  dark  eyes  and  whispers  impassioned  words  in 
her  willing  ear.  The  Mexican  youths  and  maidens  are 
fond  of  the  danza  and  usually  prefer  this  dreamy  walk- 
around,  to  the  livelier  polka  or  schottische.  Here  the 
likings  of  the  two  nations  are  in  marked  contrast.  An 
animated  polka  would  strike  up  and  the  young  Mexicans 
and  their  partners  would  begin  slowly  circling  the  room, 
while  the  Americans  took  the  center  and  danced  the 
glide  polka.  In  some  instances  an  American  beguiled 
his  or  her  Mexican  partner  into  the  same  rapid  step. 


324         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

but  I  saw  one  fair-haired  Northern  youth  slowly  un- 
dulating in  the  danza  with  a  senorita,  and  he  seemed 
to  have  mastered  it  in  every  phase,  even  to  the  look  in 
his  eyes. 

Refreshments  were  served  throughout  the  evening  and 
aided  greatly  in  keeping  up  the  enthusiasm,  for  it  was 
a  sultry  night.  At  two  o'clock  the  floor  managers  dis- 
tributed little  silken  rosettes  among  the  ladies,  who  were 
requested  to  attach  them  to  the  coats  of  the  gentlemen 
with  whom  they  desired  the  next  dance.  This  was  an 
innovation  that  met  with  no  special  favor  at  the  hands 
of  the  sefioritas.  All  their  training  had  accustomed 
them  to  the  very  opposite  course  to  anything  in  the  way 
of  overtures  to  the  other  sex.  One  bright-eyed  miss, 
who  had  just  returned  from  school  where  she  learned 
English,  did  summon  up  enough  courage  to  beckon  a 
young  American,  and  I  distinctly  heard  her  say,  "  Come 
here ! "  He  lost  no  time  in  going.  The  other  girls  sat 
calmly  holding  the  favors ;  and  though  the  dance  finally 
began  and  many  of  the  men  eventually  wore  the  ribbons, 
they  probably  had  to  ask  for  them. 

The  party  broke  up  at  three  o'clock,  those  who  had 
remained  going  home  together,  with  the  musicians  in 
advance  playing  las  mananitas  —  which  are  pieces  played 
in  the  early  morning  after  a  party.  On  reaching  the 
plaza  they  stopped  quite  naturally  and  struck  into  a  waltz, 
and  the  music  proved  so  alluring,  we  were  beguiled  into 
one  more  turn  on  the  smooth  pavement.  Then  "  buenas 
noches  "  was  said  in  earnest,  the  musicians  playing  until 
the  last  couple  was  out  of  sight.  This  seems  a  very 
pretty  and  complimentary  custom  but  it  goes  even  farther 
in  some  of  the  smaller  pueblos.  In  one  where  I  was 
staying  a  dance  was  given,  and  the  young  man  who  gave 
it  went  with  the  players  to  fetch  his  novia.     They  were 


In  the  vallev 


Feeding  tlie  piickmiiles 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         327 

attended  by  the  other  young  men  of  the  pueblo,  and  then 
they  went  to  the  house  of  each  girl  in  succession,  the 
band  playing  all  the  time,  until  all  were  assembled,  when 
they  proceeded  to  the  place  where  the  dance  was  given. 
All  the  men  carried  pine  torches  and  the  sight  was 
picturesque  in  the  extreme.  The  same  form  was  ob- 
served in  seeing  the  girls  home,  but  torches  were  no 
longer  needed,  as  it  was  broad  daylight  when  the  dance 
ended. 

San  Dimas  is  one  of  the  oldest  mining  towns  in 
Mexico.  It  lies  in  the  bottom  of  a  deep  caiion  and  is 
surrounded  by  mountains  that  tower  over  4,000  feet 
above  it.  The  exit  to  the  coast  is  along  the  Piaxtla 
River.  It  has  between  twelve  and  fifteen  hundred  peo- 
ple. The  men  are  a  race  of  miners,  and  there  are 
veterans  among  them  who  have  worked  in  the  "  Can- 
delaria "  from  boyhood.  They  occasionally  try  their 
hand  at  something  else,  but  always  drift  back  to  the 
mine  just  as  a  sailor  does  to  the  sea.  The  barber,  whose 
acquaintance  I  made  there,  told  me  his  father  and  all 
his  family  had  been  miners ;  and  though  his  present 
work  is  much  easier,  he  still  spoke  rather  regretfully  of 
la  mina.  He  was  a  bright  fellow,  about  forty  years  old, 
and  assured  me  he  has  never  so  much  as  left  San  Dimas : 
has  never  seen  a  locomotive  nor  the  sea.  To  those  who 
have  traveled,  such  ignorance  of  the  world  is  almost 
incredible. 

The  ores  in  all  the  mines  of  San  Dimas  run  high  in 
gold.  The  metal  is  shipped  in  bars  to  San  Francisco, 
where  it  is  sold  outright,  an  assay  being  made  and  the 
gold  and  silver  proportionately  paid  for.  A  bar  weighs, 
on  an  average,  seventy-six  pounds.  Before  refining, 
it  contains  a  proportion  of  baser  metals;  but  there  is 
also  a  percentage  of  gold,  that  raises  its  value  as  high  as 


328         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

a  thousand  or  even  twelve  hundred  dollars.  The  bul- 
lion is  transported  to  Mazatlan  on  mules,  one  load  seldom 
being  over  three  bars,  as  a  quick  trip  is  desirable.  A 
bullion  train  makes  the  trip  to  Mazatlan  in  from  four  to 
five  days.  The  freighters  receive  five  dollars  a  bar  for 
carrying,  and  there  is  always  return  freight,  at  the  rate 
of  $7.50  a  load,  which  is  three  hundred  pounds. 

In  the  old  days,  when  bandits  were  thicker  than  flies 
in  the  summer,  every  bullion  train  was  attended  by  a 
guard  of  soldiers.  The  owner  of  La  Candelaria,  whom 
every  one  addresses  as  "  Colonel,"  told  an  amusing 
story  regarding  a  threatened  raid  of  the  notorious 
Eracleo  Bernal.  This  famous  bandit  had  been  com- 
mitting depredations  in  the  adjacent  mountains,  and  San 
Dimas  was  in  dread  of  a  visit.  One  day  some  of  the 
men  employed  at  the  hacienda  came  rushing  in,  their 
eyes  bulging  with  terror  and  said,  "  Eracleo  is  coming !  " 
He  had  just  crossed  the  summit,  they  declared,  and  was 
sweeping  down  on  the  town,  followed  by  his  horsemen. 
The  Colonel  armed  his  little  force,  stationed  reliable  men 
on  guard  and  then  ascended  a  hill  near  by,  hoping  to  get 
an  early  view  of  the  enemy.  Far  up  on  the  trail  he 
saw  a  cloud  of  dust,  but  it  did  n't  impress  him  as  being 
made  by  a  body  of  horsemen.  He  watched  it  for  a  long 
time  and  finally  saw  that  it  was  a  flock  of  sheep.  The 
Colonel  chuckled  but  kept  mum ;  and  the  frightened 
people  continued  in  such  a  panic  of  apprehension  that 
even  when  they  heard  the  bleating  of  the  innocent  in- 
vaders, it  was  hard  to  convince  them  that  Eracleo  was 
not  at  their  heels. 

The  Colonel  once  came  near  meeting  the  bandit  chief, 
under  circumstances  which  might  have  proved  serious. 
Finding  it  necessary  to  go  to  Mazatlan,  at  a  time  when 
travel  in  Mexico  was  rather  insecure,  he  quietly  made  his 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         329 

preparations  for  the  trip,  and  set  out  with  a  trusty 
mozo,  not  telhng  even  him  where  they  were  going. 
Secret  as  he  was,  though,  the  bandits  got  wind  of  it, 
probably  through  a  spy  in  camp,  who  warned  them  of 
the  departure.  The  Colonel,  quite  regardless  of  danger, 
rode  ahead  of  his  mozo,  and  eventually  missed  the  trail, 
getting  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  river.  He  discovered 
his  mistake,  but  determined  to  keep  on,  feeling  sure  he 
should  come  out  all  right  and  that  his  mozo  would  re- 
join him  on  the  highway.  He  finally  struck  the  trail  and 
reached  a  hacienda  where  he  spent  the  night.  The 
mozo  did  not  appear  and  he  went  on  to  Mazatlan  with- 
out him.  He  had  been  there  several  days  and  was  much 
perplexed  to  know  what  had  become  of  the  fellow,  who 
had  always  proved  faithful,  when  one  morning  he  ap- 
peared. He  was  riding  quietly  along,  he  said,  following 
his  patron,  when  he  found  himself  surrounded  by 
bandits.  This  happened  on  that  part  of  the  trail  the 
Colonel  had  missed,  when  he  crossed  the  river.  On  the 
mozo  insisting  that  his  master  had  gone  on  ahead,  the 
bandits  accused  him  of  lying.  They  bound  him,  carried 
him  into  the  mountains  and  maltreated  him  severely, 
trying  to  make  him  reveal  his  master's  whereabouts ;  but 
becoming  convinced  at  last  that  he  knew  no  more  about 
it  than  they  did,  they  let  him  go.  This  was  doubtless  a 
sad  disappointment  to  Eracleo,  as  the  owner  of  Candelaria 
mine  would  have  been  a  rich  prize,  and  the  bandit  leader 
thought  he  had  a  handsome  sum  almost  within  his  grasp. 
This  same  Eracleo  Bernal,  who  came  to  be  the  terror  of 
Durango  mining  camps,  started  life  as  a  peon  boy,  in 
the  region  of  Basis  and  Huahuapan.  The  people  of 
the  Huahuapan  valley  remembered  him  when,  a  tow- 
headed  boy,  he  carried  the  food  to  the  men  at  work  in 
the  Huahuapan  mines. 


CHAPTER  XITI 

Seeing  the  Mine:  Testing  a  Tenderfoot:  Open  Cut  to  Lower 
Level :  Exploring  Ancient  Tunnels :  Mysterious  Voices : 
Castles  in  Spain :  Something  About  the  Peon :  The  Com- 
pany Store :  El  Diablo  and  the  Talking  Machine :  Marriage 
an  Expensive  Luxury :  The  Peon's  Fondness  for  Children : 
Quaint  Songs  Heard  in  the  Durango  Hills :  The  Most  In- 
teresting Thing  in  the  World. 

THERE  is  an  old  saying  about  "  small  begin- 
nings "  that  seems  especially  applicable  to  a 
mine.  The  beginning  of  a  mine  is  a  7'  x  7' 
hole  in  the  ground.  Its  ending,  however,  is  apt  to  be 
bigger.  It  may  be  a  loss,  but  it  is  sure  to  be  big. 
Often  it  ends  in  a  fortune  and  the  7'  x  7'  opening  leads 
to  a  great  underground  world,  with  miles  of  tunnels, 
shafts  that  seem  destined  to  reach  the  earth's  center, 
and  thousands  of  workmen,  toiling  night  and  day. 
When  I  first  visited  a  Mexican  silver  mine,  I  was  amazed 
at  its  unpretentious  beginnings.  A  mine  that  was  his- 
torical, that  had  produced  countless  millions, —  I  could 
not  believe  my  eyes  when  I  saw  the  insignificant  7'  x  7' 
aperture.  That  hole  in  the  ground  the  entrance  to 
treasure-land?  Before  I  had  gotten  over  my  surprise, 
a  train  of  ore  cars,  filled  with  ore  and  drawn  by  little 
mules,  issued  from  the  tunnel,  dumped  the  ore  on  the 
patio  and  waited  for  us  to  get  in.  Then  they  galloped 
into  the  mine,  a  peon  running  ahead  with  a  lighted  torch. 
At  intervals  we  passed  cross-ctits,  which  presented  end- 
less vistas  of  lights.     I  heard  the  ceaseless  rap-rap-rap 

330 


THE  MAN  WHO  LHvES  MEXICO         331 

of  the  Burley  drills  and  saw  dusky  forms  gliding  past, 
either  going  to  or  returning  from  a  shift.  Presently  we 
met  another  train,  with  more  metal,  and  still  we  kept 
on.  I  concluded  the  unpretentious  hole  meant  more 
than  at  first  appeared;  and  before  I  saw  daylight  again, 
I  was  sure  of  it.  This  was  merely  preliminary.  The 
next  day,  the  foreman  asked  me  to  go  down  through  the 
mine  with  him,  which  meant  to  enter  at  the  old  works, 
on  top  of  the  mountain,  and  come  out  of  the  main  tunnel, 
1,500  feet  below.  We  rode  our  mules  to  the  summit, 
and  turning  them  over  to  a  mozo,  went  in  at  the  great 
open  cut.  This  was  where  the  ancients  commenced 
working  the  mine,  running  down  on  the  ledge,  and  the 
tremendous,  cavern-like  opening  seemed  a  fitting  ap- 
proach to  such  a  wonderful  treasure  house.  It  was  only 
in  appearance  though ;  for  while  every  ounce  of  ore  had  to 
be  carried  up  that  steep  ascent  on  men's  backs,  it  is 
hauled  out  by  the  ton  in  the  mule  cars  from  the  com- 
monplace tunnel  below. 

At  first,  the  descent  was  made  by  regular  ladders  laid 
against  the  perpendicular  wall ;  but  these  soon  came  to 
an  end,  and  I  found  myself  climbing  down  what  are 
known  in  mining  parlance  as  Haves;  a  series  of  rounds 
placed  horizontally,  one  above  the  other,  at  intervals  of 
from  two  to  three  feet.  They  were  slippery  with  mud 
and  slime,  and  I  found  it  difficult  to  keep  my  footing. 
We  kept  running  into  side  issues  in  the  way  of  cross- 
cuts and  upraises:  and  the  foreman,  who  wanted  to  see 
how  they  were  looking,  insisted  on  my  seeing  them  too. 
There  was  compensation  in  going  down  the  Haves,  be- 
cause every  step  brought  me  nearer  the  main  tunnel  and 
the  mule  cars ;  but  climbing  into  upraises  was  quite  an- 
other matter.  We  would  haul  ourselves  up  fifty  or 
sixty    feet   over   slippery   cross-bars,   to   where   a   little 


332         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

bunch  of  naked  miners  were  at  work,  drilling  into  the 
hard  rock.  Sometimes  we  found  them  in  good  metal, 
and  the  foreman  was  correspondingly  cheerful.  At 
others,  they  were  in  waste  and  we  left  them  hammering 
away,  without  a  word.  Once  I  made  a  misstep,  missed 
the  last  rung  of  the  ladder,  and  slid  several  feet  in  the 
dark.  The  foreman  seemed  disturbed  and  said  that  in 
three  feet  more  I  would  have  gone  down  an  ore  chute ; 
but  by  this  time  I  had  given  up  hope  of  getting  out  alive, 
and  the  manner  of  my  taking  off  did  n't  matter.  I  after- 
wards learned  that  this  was  one  of  the  numerous  chutes 
for  conducting  ore  to  the  lower  tunnel,  and  that  getting 
into  it  meant  a  slide  of  i,ooo  feet. 

We  did  eventually  reach  the  main  tunnel,  and  I  was 
listening  for  the  mule-car,  when  the  foreman  remarked 
that  of  course  I  wanted  to  go  down  the  shaft.  Oh,  yes,  to 
be  sure !  We  got  into  an  ore  bucket,  gripped  a  wire 
cable,  with  bristling  strands  that  stuck  into  my  hands 
like  cactus  spines,  and  were  lowered  500  feet  further 
into  the  bowels  of  the  earth.  There  were  four  levels, 
and  on  each  men  were  at  work,  taking  out  ore. 
After  looking  over  the  lower  level,  the  foreman  rang  a 
bell,  the  bucket  was  lowered  again  and  we  were  hauled 
to  the  surface,  just  in  time  to  catch  the  ore-train  for 
the  outer  world.  On  the  way,  I  saw  quite  an  elaborate 
shrine  in  a  niche  in  the  tunnel.  It  was  trimmed  with 
paper  flowers  and  much  tinsel,  and  had  candles  that  were 
kept  burning  night  and  day.  When  I  finally  alighted 
on  the  patio,  it  was  with  sore  hands  and  aching  legs,  but 
with  a  great  appetite,  and  best  of  all,  the  proud  con- 
sciousness that  I  had  seen  the  mine.  This  I  remarked 
to  the  foreman.  He  looked  at  me  pityingly  and  said : 
"  You  might  spend  a  week  inside,  and  then  not  see  it 
all !  " 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  AIEXICO         333 

Going  through  a  mine,  in  operation  and  peopled  by 
living  beings,  is  not  a  circumstance  to  exploring  one 
long-abandoned,  and  given  over  to  bats  and  snakes. 
The  noxious  air  seems  devoid  of  oxygen,  the  bats  circle 
about  your  head  in  droves.  You  eye  the  rotting 
chicken-ladders  suspiciously,  before  trusting  yourself  to 
their  support,  and  wonder  where  you  would  land  if  one 
gave  way.  The  old  Mexicans  had  the  habit  of  running 
on  the  vein  and  taking  out  all  the  metal  in  sight  as  they 
came  to  it,  only  leaving  pillars  sufficient  to  keep  the 
mine  from  caving.  Hence  their  old  workings  are  veri- 
table labyrinths  and  they  seem  to  have  adopted  the  very 
hardest  way  for  doing  everything.  If  they  ran  down 
fifty  or  sixty  feet  on  a  ledge  and  found  it  in  good  metal, 
instead  of  running  a  tunnel  in  on  that  level,  for  getting 
out  the  ore,  they  preferred  to  carry  it  on  their  backs,  up 
almost  perpendicular  ladders.  I  have  explored  a  number 
of  old  tunnels  whose  age  can  not  be  approximated. 
They  are  fascinating  and  the  chances  of  becoming  a  sort 
of  "  Monte  Cristo  "  more  so :  but  I  never  realized  how 
much  better  the  sunlight  was  than  anything  else  in  the 
world,  till  I  first  saw  it  after  six  hours  in  the  gloomy 
depths  of  an  old  Mexican  mine. 

There  are  many  pursuits  connected  with  mining  in 
Mexico  besides  exploring  old  mines.  For  instance,  there 
is  surveying.  You  go  up  on  top  of  a  mountain  in  the 
broiling  sun  to  run  a  few  lines,  and  send  a  man  to 
hold  the  rod  on  a  peak  half  a  mile  away.  You  have 
previously  arranged  a  code  of  signals :  if  you  raise  your 
hand,  he  is  to  lift  the  target:  if  you  lower  it,  he  is  to 
drop  the  target,  etc.,  etc.  When  he  gets  in  position,  you 
look  through  the  instrument  and  signal  to  raise.  He 
promptly  begins  to  lower.  You  wave  frantically  and 
yell  yourself  hoarse,  but  to  no  avail.     You  exhaust  all 


334         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

the  profanity  at  your  command,  both  in  Ingles  and 
Castehano;  but  he  keeps  on  doing  exactly  the  opposite 
to  what  you  want  him  to.  When  you  finally  meet,  you 
are  amazed  to  find  that  he  is  as  mad  as  you  are.  The 
sun  was  in  his  eyes,  he  could  n't  see  your  signals  and 
while  he  has  n't  heard  your  expletives,  he  has  been  doing 
a  little  in  the  same  line.  Finally  you  both  cool  off  and  go 
back  to  try  it  over. 

Then  there  is  assaying.  You  go  to  the  mine,  where 
you  are  prospecting,  and  the  head  barratero  meets  you 
with  a  glad  eye.  He  says  the  men  on  the  night  shift 
heard  voices  inside  the  hanging  wall,  and  that  the  last 
blast  brought  them  into  good  metal.  These  supersti- 
tions of  the  mining  folk  affect  you  mysteriously  when 
you  are  looking  for  a  bonanza.  You  inspect  the  face 
of  the  drift,  and  the  barratero  shakes  his  head  wisely 
and  says  "  miiy  rico!  "  (very  rich !).  You  take  numerous 
samples  and  it  certainly  does  look  well  —  lots  of  lead 
and  bronze  and  a  suspicion  of  gold.  As  you  ride  down 
the  mountain,  you  begin  picking  out  the  best  place  for 
a  tramway  and  speculate  as  to  how  big  a  smelter  you 
will  put  in.  Then  your  thoughts  drift  further,  and  by 
the  time  you  reach  camp,  you  have  even  spent  (in  your 
mind)  a  portion  of  the  wealth  that  seems  a  sure  thing. 
The  sight  of  the  assay  furnace  is  a  bit  of  a  dampener. 
There  is  no  romance  about  an  assay  furnace.  It  melts 
everything  down  alike  and  proves  the  "  Survival  of  the 
fittest "  and  "  Gold  must  be  tried  by  fire."  You  set  to 
work  to  prepare  and  make  the  assays.  It  is  a  long 
process,  but  the  last  stage  is  finally  reached,  namely, 
cupelling  in  the  furnace  oven.  If  that  bead  would  only 
stop  at  the  size  of  a  good,  healthy  pea !  But  it  keeps 
reducing.  Now  it  is  only  medium,  and  now  —  cara- 
coles! it  is  reduced  to  a  pin  point.     "  Castles  in  Spain  " 


fj,-':'i^:m 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         337 

come  to  earth  with  a  crash  and  incidentally  tram-ways 
and  smehers.  I  have  heard  during  the  assaying  process 
even  more  violent  expletives  than  "  Caracoles !  "  which 
is  Spanish  for  "  snails !  " 

The  peones,  in  fact  all  the  people  who  work  in  the 
mines,  interest  me.  A  Mexican  miner's  life  is  not  so 
dreary  as  that  of  a  worker  in  a  Northern  mine,  a  coal 
mine  for  instance.  The  Mexican  miner  is  indolent, 
and  no  power  on  earth  can  make  him  work  very  hard. 
He  is  by  instinct  a  rover.  He  may  be  comfortably 
housed,  with  fair  pay  and  credit  at  the  company  store ; 
but  when  the  fever  to  wander  is  on  him,  nothing  can 
keep  him  from  going.  If  the  family  owns  a  burro,  the 
household  goods  are  loaded  and  away  they  go,  over  the 
mountains.  Usually,  however,  the  man  carries  the  pack, 
with  a  small  child  seated  on  top,  and  the  woman  brings 
up  the  rear,  barefooted  and  with  a  babe  in  her  arms. 
This  is  the  wandering  Indian  spirit,  that  will  not  be  still, 
but  leads  the  peon  again  and  again  into  the  mountains, 
and  gixes  him  a  taste  of  fresh  air  and   sunshine. 

I  like  the  Mexican  peon,  lazy  and  tricky  though  he  may 
sometimes  be.  "  His  vices  make  up  for  his  faults ! " 
as  the  old  woman  said  of  an  ingratiating  and  bad  grand- 
son. In  reality  the  peon  has  many  virtues  that  incline 
me  to  overlook  his  failings.  He  is  always  respectful 
and  submissive,  when  not  in  his  cups,  and,  for  that  mat- 
ter, no  man  behaves  any  too  well  when  drunk.  Sun- 
day is  the  peon's  gala  day.  Then  he  puts  on  his  snowy 
cotton  clothes,  if  he  is  lucky  enough  to  possess  a  change, 
throws  his  bright  zarape  over  one  shoulder,  and  goes  to 
the  store  for  his  week's  rations.  He  buys  like  a  lord 
while  there  is  a  cent  coming  to  him,  or  as  long  as  the 
company  will  trust  him.  Next  to  hats,  his  weakness  is 
for  handkerchiefs.     What  he  does  with  so  many  is  a 


338         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

mystery,  but  I  consider  his  fondness  for  them  a  sign  of 
refinement,  to  which  the  lower  classes  in  some  lands  are 
strangers.  Nor  does  he  always  buy  red  and  yellow. 
I  have  been  surprised  to  see  him  select  a  pale  pink  or 
delicate  blue.  Then  he  dumps  into  it  his  various  pur- 
chases, beans,  sugar,  cigarros,  corn  or  onions,  ties  them 
up  snugly,  and  if  he  happens  to  think  of  something  else 
he  needs,  buys  another  handkerchief  to  put  it  in.  At 
the  store  he  meets  his  friends  and  his  slow  and  formal 
way  of  greeting  seems  a  survival  of  ancient  Indian  and 
Spanish  courtesy  combined.  He  takes  off  his  hat,  shakes 
hands,  and  makes  many  polite  inquiries  as  to  the  health 
of  the  family.  He  is  generous  to  a  fault ;  if  he  has  still 
a  few  cents  coming  to  him,  and  his  cornpancro,  whose 
credit  is  exhausted,  wants  cigarros,  he  cheerfully  buys 
them  and  has  them  charged  on  his  own  account.  The 
method  of  charging  is  unique.  As  few  of  the  peons 
know  figures,  a  system  of  simple  characters  has  been 
adopted,  that  all  understand.  Each  man  has  his  pass 
book,  in  which  his  purchases  are  entered  by  the  store 
clerks.  A  long  straight  mark  means  a  real  (twelve  and 
a  half  cents).  A  short  one,  half  a  real.  A  cipher  stands 
for  one  dollar  and  half  a  cipher  for  half  a  dollar. 
Strangely  enough  the  V  and  X  are  used  to  indicate  five 
and  ten  dollars.  Thus  the  following  OOIIIVX  would 
stand  for  $17.38,  the  consecutive  order  of  the  characters 
not  affecting  their  value. 

At  "  La  Puerta  "  no  liquor  was  sold,  but  there  was 
plenty  of  music,  and  with  music  the  peon  is  happy.  At 
times,  he  plaintively  solicits  "  a  few  little  drinks,"  but 
when  the  graphophone  begins  playing  "  La  Golondrina," 
he  forgets  his  thirst.  It  is  funny  to  see  his  amazed 
look  at  hearing  the  voice  of  a  man,  singing  or  talk- 
ing  from  the  graphophone.     Isidro,  the   foreman,   was 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         339 

a  faithful  fellow  and  a  true  friend  —  a  little  inclined  to 
take  life  easy,  and  with  the  vice  of  borrowing  well-devel- 
oped. One  day,  Don  Alfredo,  who  was  genuinely  at- 
tached to  Isidro,  talked  into  a  blank  record,  saying  in 
effect  that  Isidro  was  very  lazy  and  for  that  reason  he 
could  not  lend  him  money.  When  Isidro  came  again  to 
listen  to  the  graphophone,  it  was  playing  a  banjo  piece 
and  his  face  was  wreathed  in  smiles.  The  music  ceased. 
A  gruff  voice  was  talking:  he  heard  his  own  name,  he 
was  "  un  honihre  miiy  flojo"  (a  man  very  lazy).  His 
eyes  were  big  with  fright  and  without  waiting  to  hear 
more,  he  fled  in  terror.  I  heard  that  some  of  the  men 
said  el  Diablo  was  inside  the  box,  and  I  noticed  they  all 
kept  a  safe  distance. 

In  the  San  Dimas  district  the  peon  earns  a  dollar  a 
day.  The  barratero,  or  man  with  the  bar  or  drill,  gen- 
erally works  on  contract,  running  the  tunnel  at  a  given 
price  per  foot,  and  earns  anywhere  from  five  to  twenty 
or  even  thirty  dollars  a  week,  according  to  his  ability,  his 
willingness  to  work,  and  the  hardness  of  the  rock  he  is 
running  through.  He  works  with  a  compahero,  one 
holding  the  drill,  while  the  other  strikes ;  and  long  before 
you  come  up  to  him  in  the  blackness  of  the  mine,  you 
hear  his  monotonous  sing-song  chant,  with  the  sledge 
keeping  rhythmic  beat.  He  is  stripped  to  the  skin,  with 
nothing  on  save  his  breech-clout  and  sandals,  and  his 
dark,  sinewy  form  is  dripping  with  sweat.  You  come  to 
a  shaft,  two  or  three  hundred  feet  deep,  and  while  you 
are  holding  on  to  the  wall  for  safety  and  looking  down 
the  dizzy  descent,  a  peon  comes  gliding  along,  with  his 
leather  sack  slung  on  his  shoulder,  and  trips  lightly  down 
the  perilous  chicken-ladder,  as  you  would  down  a  broad 
and  easy  stairway.  A  chicken-ladder  is  the  trunk  of  a 
tree,  with  its  branches  lopped  off,  and  notches  cut  in  it 


340         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

for  steps.  Peones  prefer  them  to  any  other  ladder. 
They  say  the  American  ladders  hurt  their  feet.  A  peon 
will  pick  up  a  sack  with  a  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of 
metal,  put  it  on  his  back  with  the  strap  across  his  fore- 
head, and  walk  up  a  hundred  feet  of  chicken-ladders 
without  stopping  to  breathe.  They  are  a  slim,  well  put- 
up  set  of  fellows,  every  ounce  bone  and  muscle. 

For  the  morals  of  the  peon,  I  must  admit  they  are  lax, 
at  least  from  our  standpoint.  With  him,  marriage  was 
formerly  an  expensive  luxury  not  often  indulged  in ;  but 
it  is  becoming  more  frequent,  now  that  it  has  been 
placed  within  his  reach  at  a  nominal  cost  by  the  govern- 
ment. I  have  been  surprised  to  find  aged  couples,  that 
have  lived  their  lives  peacefully  together  and  reared  fam- 
ilies, without  ever  having  the  legal  or  church  ceremony 
performed.  The  women  are  hard-working,  grinding  the 
corn,  patting  out  the  tortillas,  and  doing  their  endless 
washing,  down  on  their  knees  beside  some  muddy  stream. 
Indeed,  the  peon  is  forced  to  take  to  himself  a  mate,  in 
order  to  get  his  cooking  and  washing  done.  There  are 
no  boarding-houses  for  the  Mexican  peon,  and  the  women 
can  seldom  be  prevailed  upon  to  cook  for  any  save  their 
own  men.  Indifferent  though  the  peon  is  to  the  mar- 
riage bond,  he  is  inflexible  on  the  matter  of  baptism ;  and 
will  carry  his  infant  for  miles  over  the  mountains  that 
it  may  receive  the  rites  of  the  Church.  If  at  any  time 
he  and  the  mother  wish  to  separate,  he  willingly  provides 
for  the  child,  placing  it  with  some  of  his  own  people. 
It  seems  a  sad  state  of  affairs,  but  among  these  people 
nothing  is  thought  of  it.  A  peon  is  not  always  as  dull 
as  he  looks.  I  had  this  illustrated  in  talking  with  one, 
whose  father  and  grandfather  before  him  were  born  in 
the  mountains.  I  was  curious  to  know  his  idea  about  the 
first  coming  of  the  Spaniards,  if  indeed  he  had  any  such 


Weighing  the  bead 


The  besjii 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         343 

idea,  of  which  I  was  not  sure.  He  said  they  were  very 
cruel  to  the  Indians  and  forced  them  to  work  in  their 
mines :  that  all  they  cared  for  was  getting  rich  — "  But," 
he  added,  "  that  is  all  the  Americanos  care  for." 

"  That  may  be,"  I  replied ;  "  but  they  pay  you  for  your 
labor,  while  the  Spaniards  made  slaves  of  your  people." 

"  It  is  true,"  he  answered  quick  as  a  flash,  "  and  for 
that  we  drove  them  out." 

I  was  deeply  interested  in  the  songs  of  the  mountain 
people.  Dona  Marciana's  maid,  Gumecinda,  who  had 
a  soft,  pleasant  voice  and  had  often  sung  for  us,  pre- 
sented me  with  two  songs,  which  she  had  carefully 
copied,  with  considerable  labor  I  am  sure.  She  was  a 
faithful  soul,  entirely  devoted  to  Doha  Marciana,  and 
had  left  her  own  pueblo  of  Huahuapan,  two  days  across 
the  mountains,  together  with  all  her  kith  and  kin,  to  fol- 
low her  young  mistress.  So  far  as  her  own  race  was 
concerned,  she  was  among  strangers.  Her  songs  were 
different  from  any  I  had  heard.  The  opening  lines  of 
one  were  the  following: 

Si  supieras  cuanto  te  amo 
Fresca  rosa,  si  supieras 
Cuanto  te  amo  Hor  divina. 
El  consiielo  de  mi  alma! 

Didst  thou  but  know  how  much  I  love  thee 
My  fresh  rose, —  didst  thou  but  know 
How  much  I  love  thee, —  flower  divine, — 
Consolation  of  my  soul ! 

The  other  song  has  a  wild  note  both  in  the  words  and 
the  music :  it  began  : — 

Dicen  que  por  estos  montcs  han  de  haber 
Muchos  tigres  y  leones  a  que  casar — ^ 
37 


344         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

"  They  say  that  in  these  mountains  there  should  be 
Many  tigers,  many  Hons  for  the  chase." 

It  was  the  sort  of  a  song  I  could  listen  to  for  hours 
and  made  me  think  of  one  that  always  charmed  me  as  a 
youngster  and  went : 

"  We'll  chase  the  antelope  over  the  plain, 
The  lion's  cub  we'll  bind  with  a  chain." 

I  asked  Gumecinda  where  she  learned  this  song  and 
she  said  from  a  man  in  the  mountains  who  was  a  great 
hunter,  who  used  to  sing  it  when  he  was  starting  away 
with  his  gun.  He  had  the  skins  of  various  animals  that 
he  had  killed,  and  with  these  he  would  disguise  himself, 
so  he  could  creep  quite  near  his  prey,  whether  deer  or 
mountain-lion.  She  offered  to  teach  me  the  song  and  I 
accepted,  but  I  had  slight  hope  of  catching  all  its  weird 
cadences.  This  same  woman  was  once  with  us  on  a 
camping  trip  and  would  sing  for  us  at  night,  when  we 
sat  about  the  fire.  She  always  went  and  crouched  by 
her  mistress's  side,  with  her  face  in  shadow,  and  there 
she  would  sing  by  the  hour ;  the  mysterious  night  sounds 
in  the  forest  lending  a  fit  accompaniment  to  the  low,  mel- 
ancholy voice.  There  was  also  a  mozo  with  us  who  sang 
well,  and  on  the  day  we  were  to  break  camp  I  was  awak- 
ened long  before  daylight,  to  find  him  singing  over  the 
fire.  He  was  making  coffee  and  crooning  a  sort  of  fare- 
well song.  The  camp  was  in  a  beautiful  spot,  near  a 
ruined  pueblo  which  had  once  been  called  "  San  Jose  " ; 
and  I  caught  the  words,  "  Adios,  San  Jose  —  Adios."  I 
think  he  made  them  up  as  he  went  along. 

I  like  to  hear  these  people  sing,  especially  in  the  night. 
At  La  Puerta  they  were  passing  all  night  long  with 
pack  trains,  through  the  road  in  the  bed  of  the  arroyo. 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         345 

I  could  barely  hear  the  rattle  of  the  mules'  feet  on  the 
pebbles,  above  the  sound  of  the  water.  One  night,  I 
knew  from  this  pattering  sound  a  train  was  passing;  and 
then  one  of  the  arrieros  began  singing  in  a  plaintive,  mo- 
notonous, yet  musical  voice,  something  about  "  una  mujer 
ingrata  "  (ungrateful  woman).  He  probably  was  not  at 
all  sad,  though  his  voice  sounded  so,  and  he  liked  the 
song  so  well,  he  sang  it  over  and  over,  and  I  was  sorry 
enough  when  he  was  out  of  hearing.  I  was  almost 
asleep,  when  I  heard  it  again.  The  train  was  crossing  a 
ridge,  a  hundred  yards  below  the  hacienda,  and  the 
strain  floated  back  on  the  night  wind  :  "  Esa  mujer  ingrat- 
ingrata." 

If  I  were  asked  what  interests  me  more  than  anything 
else,  truth  would  compel  me  to  answer,  "  people."  It 
used  to  worry  me,  for  I  found  it  interfered  with  business. 
In  Mexico,  when  I  tried  to  get  interested  in  mining,  I 
would  go  to  the  mines,  examine  the  ledge  critically,  pick 
up  a  piece  of  rock  and  look  wise.  Before  I  knew  it,  I 
would  forget  all  about  the  mine  and  become  interested 
in  the  people ;  the  dark,  silent  men,  hammering  away 
at  the  flinty  wall  or  gliding  along  the  tunnel,  laden  with 
heavy  sacks  of  ore.  They  were  the  nearest  to  beasts  of 
burden  I  had  ever  seen  in  the  shape  of  human  beings  and 
I  wanted  to  know  about  them.  Had  their  fathers  ever 
been  slaves  and  did  they  know  this?  Were  the  fine, 
Moorish  faces  that  I  frequently  saw,  a  pure  Indian  type, 
or  were  they  due  to  a  Spanish  strain?  How  many  had 
Spanish  blood  anyway  and  what  sort  of  people  were 
their  ancestors,  before  the  Spaniards  came?  Some 
looked  as  though  they  had  come  from  a  line  of  cargadores 
with  their  huge  feet  and  heavy  limbs ;  while  others  were 
as  trim  and  slight  as  a  thoroughbred.  I  have  seen  a  peon 
who  could  not  write  his  name  and  never  heard  of  Mqx- 


346         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

ico  City,  yet  with  a  face  and  carriage  that  needed  only  the 
pitiable  adjunct  of  clothes  and  a  little  coaching,  to  make 
him  hold  his  own  on  Fifth  Avenue,  so  far  as  looks  are 
concerned :  and  a  girl,  whose  only  shelter  consisted  of 
four  poles  with  a  roof  of  brushwood,  whose  one  ac- 
complishment was  grinding  corn  for  tortillas,  yet  whose 
delicate  beauty,  in  the  right  setting,  would  start  a  city 
raving  about  her.  When  I  see  such  sights  I  can't  help 
wondering  about  them,  nor  about  a  hundred  other  things 
that  are  none  of  my  business.  I  used  to  wish  I  were  dif- 
ferent ;  but  I  finally  gave  in  to  the  inevitable.  I  can't 
say  I  have  been  sorry  and  I  have  learned  some  things. 
I  have  seen  conditions  that  have  made  me  realize  what 
a  sad  thing  ignorance  is ;  and  I  have  recognized  noble 
traits  and  sterling  qualities  in  the  midst  of  these  same 
conditions,  that  have  made  our  vaunted  civilization  seem 
a  poor  thing.  The  people  that  possess  these  traits  I  re- 
member, and  their  portraits  are  in  a  gallery  of  my  own 
with  others  that  I  have  collected  through  the  years ;  and 
the  gallery  never  seems  to  become  filled.  The  people 
are  of  all  ranks  and  conditions,  and  of  many  different 
races:  still  there  never  seems  anything  incongruous  in 
the  way  the  portraits  are  hung.  I  think  if  I  tried  to  de- 
fine the  quality  they  all  possess  and  which,  to  a  degree, 
makes  them  fit  company,  one  for  another,  I  should  call 
it  Truth. 

I  first  saw  Gumecinda  in  the  little,  isolated  Indian 
pueblo  of  Huahuapan  where  they  had  never  laid  eyes  on 
white  people.  No  longer  young,  pure  Indian  in  type, 
she  still  possessed  something,  whether  it  was  her  manner, 
her  voice,  her  way  of  doing  things,  that  made  her  differ- 
ent from  the  others.  She  lived  with  her  aunt,  an  old 
witch  of  a  thing,  with  an  eye  for  trouble  and  an  appetite 
for  mescal.     Here  a  virtue  crops  out  between  the  afore- 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         347 

said  eye  and  the  mescal.  The  witch  gave  Gumecinda  a 
home  because  she  was  a  relative.  It  would  have  been 
just  the  same,  had  she  been  worthless  and  good-for- 
nothing.  "  Blood  is  thicker  than  water,"  A  relation 
must  be  cared  for  while  there  is  a  zarape  to  sleep  under 
or  a  kernel  of  Diai::  in  the  corn-bin.  It  is  the  way  of  the 
country. 

As  it  happened,  Gumecinda  was  a  much-prized  mem- 
ber of  the  household.  No  one  could  make  such  good 
tamales,  none  such  fine,  snowy  tortillas :  no  one  could 
wash  the  cotton  clothing  in  the  little  stream  till  it  looked 
snow-white  but  Gumecinda.  If  a  son  or  cousin  had  a  sick 
wife  in  the  mountain,  who  must  go  to  nurse  her  and  the 
little  ones  ?  Gumecinda,  of  course.  She  would  pack  her 
little  bundle  of  herbs  and  remedies,  muffle  head  and  face 
in  the  voluminous  cotton  toalle  (mantle)  and  ride  away 
over  the  mountains,  to  stay  till  she  was  needed  else- 
where. 

I  remember  the  first  time  we  went  to  the  witch's  house. 
Gumecinda  was  seated  on  a  mat,  doing  drawn-work.  I 
saw  that  she  was  barefooted  and  then  —  presto  —  she 
had  on  shoes.  How  she  did  it  I  never  understood. 
She  made  us  welcome  without  a  sign  of  embarrassment. 
She  placed  the  one  chair  and  a  box  for  us  to  sit  on, 
and  for  want  of  another  box,  spread  a  mat  on  the  door- 
step, chatting  easily  with  us  all  the  time.  Her  voice 
was  low  and  musical,  and  if  her  speech  was  unlettered, 
we  at  least  did  n't  know  it.  She  entertained  us  easily, 
naturally,  talking  of  things  most  likely  to  interest  us.  I 
was  amazed  at  first  and  then  forgot  my  surprise  and  ac- 
cepted it  as  a  matter  of  course. 

From  that  day,  Gumecinda  never  changed.  If  we 
wanted  to  hear  the  songs  of  the  people,  she  sang  for  us. 
If  we  wanted  to  see  their  dances,  she  hunted  up  a  part- 


348         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

ner,  and  with  him  went  through  the  figures  of  the 
jarabe,  her  good,  plain  face  radiant  with  the  dehght  of 
dancing,  and  the  knowledge  that  she  was  pleasing  others. 
She  was  always  ready  to  help  in  a  hundred  ways,  cook- 
ing, sewing,  or  in  case  of  sickness ;  yet  she  would  never 
accept  a  cent  of  money.  Gifts,  yes  —  if  her  good  friends 
wished,  but  not  money.  Unlettered,  untaught,  super- 
stitious she  was,  like  the  rest  of  her  people ;  but  with 
an  innate  dignity  and  goodness,  that  shone  through  and 
obliterated  all  else.  Gumecinda's  portrait  is  in  the  gal- 
lery, and  it  is  hung  in  a  good  light. 

I  can  see  Don  Loreto  now  by  just  shutting  my  eyes. 
He  lived  in  a  place  that  had  once  been  the  center  of  a 
rich  mining  district;  and  his  father,  judging  from  the 
extent  of  the  ruined  hacienda  with  its  fine  orange 
orchard,  must  have  been  a  man  of  no  mean  ability. 
Don  Loreto  was  the  funniest  little  body  I  ever  met. 
The  merest  manikin  in  size,  with  small,  regular  features, 
quite  an  imposing  mustache  and  chin-whisker,  the  littlest 
hands  and  feet,  and  short,  fat  legs,  slightly  bowed,  that 
could  never,  under  any  circumstances,  do  more  than  wad- 
dle. Don  Loreto  spoke  a  little  pigeon-English  that  he 
had  acquired  as  a  boy,  in  the  days  when  the  hacienda 
was  in  funds.  When  the  weather  permitted,  he  wore  a 
superb  cloak  lined  with  old-gold  plush,  faced  with  red; 
and  he  would  fling  it  over  his  shoulder  with  a  telling 
sweep  of  the  arm,  extend  one  small  soiled  paw  in  the 
direction  of  the  pueblo,  and  exclaim,  "  Oh,  sir,  you  see 
all  those  people  —  they  were  once  my  father's  servants  !  " 
He  invariably  began  with  "  Oh,  sir !  "  and  ended  with  the 
rising  inflection.  He  would  add,  that  his  father  was  a 
man,  very  powerful  and  much  respected  by  his  workmen. 
"  When  he  held  up  one  stick,  all  men  fall  down !  "  said 
Don  Loreto.     I  never  understood  what  he  meant,  but 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         349 

always  pictured  the  pueblo  reverentially  "  deferring," 
like  the  populace  in  the  "  Mikado "  at  the  approach  of 
the  Lord  High  Executioner. 

Don  Loreto  once  applied  to  a  friend  of  mine  for  a  posi- 
tion ;  he  offered  to  look  after  his  interests  in  a  mining 
prospect,  which  happened  to  be  near  his  own 
hacienda.  He  was  engaged  on  the  spot  and  on  taking 
his  departure  said  in  a  high  and  rather  theatrical  voice : 
"  Oh,  sir,  when  I  am  in  that  country,  you  will  tell  me 
what  I  want?"  It  was  only  a  mistake  of  one  word, 
the  substitution  of  "  I "  for  "  you,"  but  together  with 
the  high  voice,  the  pompous  manner,  above  all  the  funny 
little  man  himself,  it  was  excruciating. 

I  once  went  on  a  long  journey  with  Don  Loreto,  and 
passed  the  night  at  his  mother's  house.  She  was  a  dear 
old  lady  and  though  I  am  sure  she  had  received  few, 
if  any,  foreigners  before,  I  was  warmly  welcomed  and 
showered  with  kind  attentions.  While  on  the  road,  Don 
Loreto  did  his  utmost  to  be  entertaining,  and  he  scorned 
to  speak  any  language  but  English.  I  was  once  riding 
with  him  and  he  called  my  attention  to  some  little  red 
berries,  much  like  our  "  pigeon  berries,"  as  follows :  — 
"  Oh,  sir,  do  you  see  these  little  f ru-its  ?  These  are  too 
kind,  these  are  too  beautiful?  AH  the  ladies,  when 
they  see,  will  like  to  take  a  walk  to  pluck."  Don  Loreto 
had  an  uncle  Juan,  who  was  "  too  brave  "  and  a  very 
good  shot.  He  was  riding  along  with  him  one  day, 
chatting  pleasantly,  when  he  suddenly  saw  a  huge  animal, 
coming  down  the  mountain  and  making  directly  for 
them.  He  called  his  uncle  Juan's  attention  to  it,  who 
said,  "Oh,  Loreto,  that  is  one  oso  (bear).  Excuse  me 
one  moment !     I  will  kill  it." 

We  got  to  know  Don  Loreto  very  well  and  to  value 
him  accordingly.     His  motto  was,  "  Always  kind  with 


350         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

all  people,"  and  he  lived  up  to  it.  He  had  a  good- 
for-nothing  younger  brother  who  seemed  to  embody  the 
not  inconsiderable  ability  and  likewise  all  the  badness 
of  his  line.  He  lived  off  the  proceeds  of  the  little  man's 
labors  and  was  ungrateful  besides.  We  often  counseled 
Don  Loreto  to  set  him  adrift,  but  though  he  admitted 
the  justice  of  it,  he  never  did  it.  He  was  a  happy-go- 
lucky  soul,  always  looking  for  better  days  and  eager  as 
a  child  for  amusement.  When  Christmas  arrived  and 
he  heard  of  the  doings  in  our  tierra,  with  trees,  stock- 
ings and  what  not,  he  was  enchanted.  The  stocking  part 
seemed  especially  to  captivate  him,  and  on  Christmas 
morning  he  was  invited  in  to  take  eggnog,  and  then  led  to 
the  fireplace,  where  a  long  stocking  hung,  filled  to  the  top, 
for  him.  He  was  as  tickled  as  a  youngster,  and  for  the 
moment  half  inclined  to  believe  in  our  strange  santo. 
He  would  not  take  out  a  thing,  but  trotted  away  as 
fast  as  his  fat  legs  would  carry  him,  to  open  in  the 
privacy  of  his  own  home  and  in  the  presence  of  his 
wife  —  his  first  Christmas  stocking. 

Years  passed  and  though  we  often  talked  of  Don 
Loreto,  we  never  saw  him  until  one  day  he  appeared  at 
the  camp,  riding  a  little  podgy  white  mule,  and  attended 
by  the  bad  but  quite  imposing  brother.  It  is  needless 
to  say  that  Don  Loreto  was  wined  and  dined  and  made 
much  of.  When  dinner  was  over,  he  leaned  back  com- 
placently and  turning  to  his  hostess  said,  "  Oh,  misses, 
we  talk  now  of  many  things,  but  not  of  Christmas  and 
the  stocking."  It  was  all  so  natural,  the  high  voice,  the 
rising  inflection  and  all,  that  we  laughed  till  we  cried, 
and  Don  Loreto  laughed  with  us,  a  trifle  mystified,  but 
delighted  because  we  were.  Then  after  many  abrasos 
he  mounted  and  rode  away,  the  bad  brother  in  the  lead. 
I  can  see  him  now,  bumping  along  on  his  queer  little 


American  mine-owners 


The  camp  mascots 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         353 

mule,  his  face  hidden  by  the  enormous  sombrero,  his 
fat  legs  encased  in  very  shiny  leggings,  and  his  gorgeous 
cape  blowing  out  behind,  "  always  kind  with  all  people." 

I  once  knew  a  mozo  whose  name  was  Jesus,  and  I  re- 
fused to  temporize  by  calling  him  either  Juan  or  Jose. 
Just  pronounce  it  "  Haysoos,"  with  the  accent  on  the  last 
syllable,  and  it  will  sound  all  right.  Jesus  was  hotel 
mozo,  and  I  met  him  about  two  minutes  after  my  arrival 
when  he  brought  my  luggage  upstairs,  filled  the  water 
pitcher,  and  complimented  my  foresight  in  taking  a 
room  at  the  back  of  the  house,  with  such  a  fine  view. 
The  landlord  came  and  begged  me  to  have  a  room  on 
the  street,  with  an  interesting  outlook  on  the  white  walls 
of  the  house  opposite,  and  at  double  the  price ;  but  I 
politely  refused  to  change  and  Jesus  understood.  I  in- 
quired if  he  took  care  of  the  rooms  and  learning  that  he 
did,  made  a  careful  survey  of  him,  to  determine  into 
what  sort  of  hands  I  and  my  belongings  had  fallen.  I 
find  it  a  good  way  to  make  up  my  mind  regarding 
mozos  on  the  start,  and  ever  after  be  perfectly  easy  re- 
garding my  possessions,  or  else  lock  them  up. 

My  summing  up  of  Jesus  was  satisfactory,  though  he 
was  a  decided  innovation  in  types.  His  skin  was  swarthy 
like  an  Indian's,  but  he  had  blue  eyes,  a  shock  of  light 
brown  hair  and  a  broad,  jolly  countenance.  He  was 
short  and  stubby  and  his  thick  muscular  legs  seemed 
to  have  been  literally  melted  and  poured  into  the  tight 
charro  trousers.  I  speculated  a  good  deal  as  to  how  he 
got  in  and  out  of  those  trousers,  for  his  feet  were  large 
and  substantial  and  did  not  look  as  though  they  would 
go  through.  I  learned,  however,  that  at  night  he  merely 
lay  down  on  the  floor  of  the  zaguan  and  covered  himself 
with  his  zarape. 

After   deciding   that   Jesus   was   trustworthy,    I   con- 


354         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

suited  him  as  to  the  advisabihty  of  leaving  my  room  open 
at  all  times,  for  the  entrance  of  sunlight,  fresh  air  and 
the  greater  convenience  of  us  both.  I  remarked  that  I 
liked  it  better  so  and  that,  of  course,  my  things  would  be 
perfectly  safe.  Jesus,  who  could  not  say  a  word  with- 
out acting  it  out,  touched  each  eye  with  his  forefinger, 
swept  the  room  at  a  glance  and  said,  "  Don't  worry." 
This  understanding  placed  us  at  once  on  a  confidential 
footing;  and  Jesus  constituted  himself  not  only  general 
caretaker  of  my  room,  but  master-of-the-wardrobe  and 
body-servant  in  the  bargain :  at  times  his  attentions  were 
a  bit  overpowering.  When  I  came  in  from  riding  he 
flew  at  me  and  had  my  spurs  off  before  I  was  out  of 
the  saddle.  He  then  followed  me  to  my  room,  drew  off 
my  boots,  brought  another  pair  and  seemed  positively 
pained  when  I  insisted  on  lacing  them  myself.  If  I 
went  to  wash  my  hands,  he  stood  by  with  pitcher  in  one 
hand  and  towel  in  the  other.  This  last  performance 
always  struck  me  as  ridiculous  but  I  concluded  he  had 
been  valet  for  some  luxurious  and  helpless  individual 
who  had  exacted  it.  I  finally  asked  him  whose  servant 
he  had  been,  at  which  he  informed  me  that  he  was  a 
carpenter  by  trade  and  had  never  been  servant  to  any- 
body. He  had  worked  on  the  hotel,  during  its  con- 
struction, at  a  wage  of  fifty  cents  daily;  and  then  had 
stayed  on  as  mozo,  at  "  quien  sabe  que  sueldo !  "  (who 
knows  what  pay!).  This  financial  uncertainty  didn't 
seem  to  worry  him  a  particle.  In  fact  I  'm  not  sure  that 
it  did  n't  add  to  his  contentment.  As  to  his  marked  ac- 
complishments in  the  serving  line,  I  concluded  they  must 
be  the  result  of  his  own  genius. 

I  used  to  watch  Jesus  about  his  work,  singing  at  the 
top  of  his  lungs,  and  tried  to  take  lessons  in  the  art  of 
being  happy.     I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  consisted 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         355 

mainly  in  having  few  wants.  Jesus  had  enough  to  eat 
and  a  bed  on  the  stone  pavement  in  the  zaguan.  He 
owned  a  fairly  good  hat,  a  fine  pink  shirt  with  red  lac- 
ings, a  zarape  and  the  irremovable  trousers.  What  was 
there  to  wish  for? 

I  found  that  of  all  my  possessions,  he  regarded  my 
camera  with  the  greatest  admiration ;  and  when  I  worked 
with  my  pictures  he  hovered  about  me  like  a  shadow. 
He  was  specially  pleased  with  a  photograph  of  the  church, 
and  as  I  found  he  was  quite  devout,  I  resolved  to  give 
him  one.  I  had  several  laid  aside  with  other  photo- 
graphs, but  when  the  day  came  to  continue  my  journey 
and  I  looked  for  them,  there  was  not  one  to  be  found. 
I  searched  high  and  low  without  success,  and  then  sud- 
denly my  mind  reverted  to  Jesus  and  his  excessive 
admiration  for  the  pictures.  I  hated  myself  for  har- 
boring a  suspicion  of  his  honesty;  and  resolutely  put 
the  thought  away.  Still  I  wondered  about  the  pictures, 
and  at  last  caught  myself  endeavoring  to  condone  the 
offense,  telling  myself  that  the  poor  fellow  knew  no 
better,  and  that  in  his  fondness  for  the  church  he  had 
innocently  appropriated  one ;  perhaps  it  was  for  his 
novia.  But  there  were  several  pictures  and  what  could 
he  want  with  so  many?  At  last  I  started  to  unpack  my 
trunk  and  make  a  last  thorough  search,  and  safely  tucked 
away,  in  a  most  improbable  corner,  were  the  pictures, 
put  there  by  my  own  hand  in  a  fit  of  abstraction.  I  felt 
small  enough  and  when  Jesus  appeared,  with  his  usually 
beaming  countenance  a  trifle  serious,  on  account  of  my 
departure,  I  felt  tempted  to  beg  his  pardon.  On  second 
thought  I  refrained,  and  presented  him  with  several 
packages  of  cigarettes.  When  he  had  corded  up  my 
trunk  for  the  second  time  that  morning,  he  came  and 
stood  by  my  chair  and  humbly  asked  if  I  would  do  him 


356         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  AIEXICO 

the  favor  to  give  him  a  fotografia  of  the  church,  as  a 
remembrance.  For  reply,  I  handed  him  one  of  each 
photograph  I  had  made  in  his  tierra.  Then  as  he  stood 
radiant,  expressing  his  gracias  in  the  vohible  way  of 
his  people,  somehow  a  portrait  of  Jesiis  found  its  way 
into  the  gallery.  I  am  glad  it  is  there  and  the  experi- 
ence it  recalls  has  taught  me  a  lesson. 

One  night,  while  wandering  at  dusk,  I  found  myself  in 
what  we  familiarly  term  a  blind  alley.  I  think  the 
Spanish  word  rinconada  means  the  same  thing.  I  was 
turning  to  go  back,  when  a  girl  began  singing  in  a  house 
at  the  end  of  the  street.  Her  voice  was  strong  and  pure, 
and  she  sang  as  though  her  whole  heart  was  in  the 
song:  "  Blanquisima  paloma,  consuelo  de  las  almas — " 
which  means,  "  Whitest  of  doves,  consolation  of  souls." 
Then  she  stopped.  I  waited,  wishing  she  would  go  on, 
and  presently  she  sang  the  same  words  over,  with  an 
added  line  I  did  not  understand,  and  then  stopped  again. 
I  judged  that  she  was  at  her  work,  sewing  likely,  and 
fancied  her  bending  over  it  in  the  intervals.  I  was 
thinking  what  a  pity  it  was  women's  voices  were  never 
heard  in  the  churches,  when  she  took  up  the  song  again, 
and  this  time  went  through  several  phrases  without 
stopping.  I  waited  a  long  time  for  more,  but  there 
was  not  another  note.  People  were  passing  back  and 
forth,  entering  and  leaving  other  doors,  but  no  one  paid 
the  slightest  attention  to  the  mysterious  house  from 
whence  issued  the  lovely  voice.  I  began  to  grow  im- 
patient and  besides  to  feel  an  overwhelming  desire  to 
see  the  singer.  There  was  a  bright  light  in  the  room 
and  the  window  was  shaded  by  a  half-curtain  of  coarse 
white  muslin.  I  was  sure  the  voice  was  just  back  of 
that  curtain  and  I  began  to  edge  closer.  All  at  once  she 
sang  again,  this  time  with  deeper  fervor,  as  though  she 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         357 

loved  and  believed  the  words,  "  Blanqnisima  paloma,  con- 
suelo  de  las  almas  — ."  "  Now,"  thought  I,  "  she  will 
sing  it  all;"  but  instead  of  waiting,  content  with  the 
song,  I  kept  on  till  I  reached  the  window.  How  she 
knew  I  was  there,  I  never  understood.  She  was  sewing 
and  she  did  not  lift  her  eyes.  She  could  not  have  seen 
me  in  any  event,  as  it  was  quite  dark  outside.  Still  I 
knew,  from  the  look  that  came  over  her  face,  she  would 
not  sing  any  more.  She  was  a  girl  of  the  middle  class. 
I  shall  not  try  to  describe  her,  as  I  don't  think  such 
descriptions  ever  amount  to  much.  I  know  she  had  on 
a  black  dress,  that  her  face  was  pale  but  very  beautiful, 
and  that  she  looked  good.  I  stole  away  from  the  window 
and  waited  for  the  song  to  go  on ;  but  it  never  did,  and 
I  finally  walked  away  thoroughly  vexed  with  myself  for 
not  letting  well  enough  alone,  which  nobody  ever  does. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  Mountain  Flood:  Swimming  the  Arroyo:  Dangers  of 
Mountain  Travel:  Arrival  of  the  Mail:  The  Life  of  Don 
Bias :  The  Silent  Horseman :  A  Night  at  "  Pig  Gulch " ; 
Electrical  Storm  in  the  Mountains:  A  Dream  City:  It's  a 
Long  Ride  that  has  no  End. 

ALL  the  mining  men  in  the  San  Dimas  district 
were  longing  for  rain.  The  mills  are  run  by- 
water-power ;  and  as  the  creeks  were  very  low, 
there  was  immediate  prospect  of  shutting  down  for 
lack  of  water,  which  means  a  daily  loss  of  thousands  of 
dollars.  It  threatened  to  rain  every  night  with  the 
usual  warnings  of  heavy,  black  clouds  and  a  ring  around 
the  moon,  which  had  a  greenish-yellow  look,  but  still 
the  rain  held  off.  Every  morning  big  clouds  floated  on 
the  horizon  and  the  sun  broke  through  with  difficulty. 
Sometimes  there  was  a  mackerel  sky,  and  then  Isidro, 
who  always  talked  by  signs,  would  cock  his  eye  heaven- 
ward, nod  mysteriously,  and  holding  his  hand,  palm 
downward,  wriggle  his  fingers  in  a  way  to  suggest  fall- 
ing water :  still  it  did  n't  rain.  Every  evening  at  sun- 
set, when  the  wind  blew  up  the  canon,  hurling  clouds  of 
sand  and  dead  leaves  right  and  left,  we  said,  "  It  will 
certainly  rain  to-night !  "  and  then  the  night  would  come 
soft  and  clear,  with  a  starlit  sky.  February  is  late  for 
heavy  rains  and  the  miners  began  to  despair.  They 
found  some  comfort  telling  me  how  the  flood  had  acted 
in  i^revious  years ;  how  the  waters  roared  till  they 
could  n't   hear   each   other's    voices,    hurling   great    logs 

358 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         359 

along  with  the  speed  of  a  mill-race,  tumbling  immense 
boulders  down  stream  like  so  many  pebbles  and  shutting 
off  communications  with  the  other  camps  for  weeks. 
The  little  San  Dimas  arroyo  was  a  raging  torrent,  and  the 
river,  with  which  it  unites  just  below  the  hacienda,  an 
angry  sea.  The  placid  cJiarco,  where  we  went  swim- 
ming, became  a  lake,  with  a  forty  foot  dive  off  the  rocks, 
and  catfish  galore  for  the  mere  casting  a  line.  Then 
they  added  consolingly,  that  although  I  had  missed  it,  I 
should  doubtless  see  it  all  another  time. 

The  wind  had  been  hot  and  dry  all  day,  and  there  were 
more  sand  and  dead  leaves  than  usual  in  consequence. 
We  had  become  used  to  disappointment  and  though  the 
skies  were  dubious,  we  only  said  in  disgusted  tones,  "  But 
it  won't  rain !  "  At  nightfall  it  began  to  sprinkle  in  a 
half-hearted  way,  and  those  who  knew  the  signs  said  it 
meant  a  storm ;  but  I  remained  skeptical  and  went  to 
bed  without  giving  it  a  second  thought.  Once  or  twice 
I  woke  in  the  night  and  heard  the  rain  striking  the  corru- 
gated iron  overhead,  but  even  then  I  did  n't  realize  what 
it  really  meant.  My  morning  doze  was  broken  into  by 
a  great  banging  on  the  window  shutters,  and  amid  the 
deafening  roar  of  the  waters  I  heard  a  voice  shouting, 
"  Get  up  and  see  the  flood."  I  flung  the  shutters  open 
and,  though  it  was  barely  light,  I  could  see  that  the 
arroyo,  which  the  day  before  I  had  crossed  on  stepping 
stones,  at  most  ten  feet  wrde,  had  been  transformed  in  a 
night  into  a  mighty  river,  filling  the  bottom  of  the  im- 
mense canon,  which  at  that  point  was  nearly  two  hundred 
feet  wide.  The  water  was  running  easily  fifteen  miles 
an  hour  and  I  could  hear  the  constant  bumping  and  feel 
the  jar  of  the  big  rocks  as  they  were  dashed  against  the 
foundations  of  the  hacienda. 

As   it   grew    lighter,   we    saw    the    river,   which    was 


36o         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

grandly  beautiful,  with  trunks  of  immense  trees  rid- 
ing its  billows.  A  steady  drizzle  was  still  falling,  but 
the  delights  of  such  a  day,  coming  after  a  long  spell 
of  hot  dry  weather,  were  not  to  be  withstood. 
Everybody  cautioned  everybody  else  to  beware  of 
calentura  (fever)  which  was  prevalent  in  those  parts, 
but  no  one  stayed  indoors.  First  there  were  all  the 
animals  to  be  visited.  The  mules  were  huddled  together 
in  a  sad  group  under  the  fodder-stack,  and  the  cow 
stood  gazing  dejectedly  at  her  offspring,  who,  though 
safe  under  cover,  was  bawling  frantically.  Even  the 
pig's  monologue  had  assumed  a  cynical  tone :  the  roost- 
ers were  trailing  their  bedraggled  tail-feathers,  and 
the  doves,  who  had  persistently  shunned  their  com- 
fortable little  houses,  preferring  to  roost  on  the  ridge- 
pole and  coquette  with  the  stars,  were  so  benumbed 
from  the  wet  and  cold,  they  could  scarcely  fly  or  even 
walk  without  pitching  over.  Many  an  unfortunate 
found  his  way  to  that  refuge  for  feathered  invalids  —  the 
kitchen.  The  dogs  had  the  best  of  it  for  while  they 
were  supposed  to  be  on  guard  at  night,  I  was  sure  some 
of  the  peones,  who  were  fond  of  them,  had  harbored 
them  during  the  worst  of  it.  They  were  jubilant  in 
consequence  leaping  upon  us  with  their  muddy  paws. 
And  the  pet  burro,  whose  name  was  "  Johnny,"  did 
what  he  could,  braying  dismally  all  day  at  ten-minute 
intervals,  in  tones  that  sounded  more  than  ever  in  need 
of  scraping  and  oiling. 

The  mines  were  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  arroyo 
from  the  town,  and  the  workmen  were  shut  off  from 
their  supply  of  tortillas  and  beans.  There  was  no  way 
to  get  food  across  the  river,  and  I  doubt  if  the  women 
would  have  found  time  to  cook  in  any  event,  they  were 
so  taken  up  watching  the  flood.     The  men  refused  to 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         363 

work  on  empty  stomachs  and  besides  they  wanted  to 
see  the  flood  too,  so  they  came  trooping  down  from  the 
mines.  By  noon  they  were  ranged  up  in  hnes  on  the  op- 
posite banks,  the  women  on  one  side,  the  men  on  the 
other.  It  is  on  such  occasions  the  sign-language  demon- 
strates its  superiority  over  all  others.  In  spite  of  the 
noise  of  the  water,  those  Indians  talked  across  the  ar- 
royo.  I  imagine  the  gist  of  what  was  said  resolved  it- 
self into  "  I  'm  hungry !  "  on  one  side  and  "  Come  and 
get  your  dinner  then !  "  on  the  other.  At  last  a  venture- 
some young  peon  decided  to  make  the  attempt.  It  was 
an  exciting  moment  as  he  stripped  off  his  loose  cotton 
clothing,  and  stood,  slender  and  dark,  on  the  edge  of 
the  torrent.  He  leaped  in  and  tried  at  first  to  wade 
but  the  current  swept  him  from  his  feet  and  he  dis- 
appeared. Where  was  he?  Would  he  be  dashed  on 
the  rocks?  No,  there  he  was  swimming  down  stream, 
his  dark  head  just  showing  above  the  foam.  He  landed 
fifty  yards  below  and  made  for  the  town,  where  a  pair 
of  brown  hands  was  already  patting  tortillas  against 
his  coming.  One  quality  is  never  at  a  discount,  be  the 
owner  high  or  low ;  it  is  courage  and  that  peon  boy  had 
it.  By  night,  the  water  had  gone  down  sufficiently  for 
wading,  and  the  men  were  crossing  in  droves,  carrying 
their  clothing  on  their  heads.  Some  of  the  weaker  ones 
were  afraid  to  try  it,  as  the  current  was  still  tremendous 
and  the  water  came  to  the  arm-pits;  and  these,  the 
stouter  ones  carried  over  on  their  shoulders. 

I  was  prepared  for  a  change  the  next  morning,  but  not 
for  the  one  I  saw.  From  a  river,  close  on  to  two  hun- 
dred feet  wide,  the  arroyo  had  subsided  into  a  trifle 
over  its  usual  width;  but  with  an  added  volume  and 
velocity  that  suggested  sufficient  reserve  to  last  a  long 

time.     The   water  was  ice-cold  and  we  hoped   that   it 
18 


364         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

came  from  melting  snow,  which  would  assure  its  con- 
tinuance. 

The  havoc  that  a  small  and  apparently  inoffensive 
mountain  stream  can  create  in  a  night,  aided  and  abetted 
by  the  innumerable  smaller  ones  that  are  its  tributaries, 
is  incalculable.  Every  rill  contributes  its  mite  and  the 
united  water  of  hundreds  of  rills  soon  constitutes  an 
irresistible  torrent.  Woe  to  the  unlucky  mill  owner, 
whose  works  happen  to  come  within  the  danger  line. 
A  few  years  ago,  this  same  arroyo  carried  away  an  en- 
tire pipe-line  and  its  bed  is  still  strewn,  half-way  to 
the  coast,  with  sections  of  iron  pipe :  while  a  huge  boiler, 
four  feet  in  diameter  and  sixteen  feet  long,  was  whisked 
away  like  a  stick  of  wood.  After  a  long  and  fruitless 
search,  the  owners  concluded  it  had  gone  out  to  sea; 
but  several  years  later,  the  water  uncovered  it  where  it 
lay  embedded  in  the  sand,  over  three  miles  down  the 
arroyo.  The  precept  for  mill  owners  would  seem  to 
be,  "  roost  high !  " 

While  a  mountain  flood  frequently  subsides  as  quickly 
as  it  came,  its  havoc  makes  travel  dangerous  for  weeks 
afterward.  As  a  result  of  the  present  flood,  our  mail 
was  delayed  for  two  weeks,  and  the  waiting  seemed 
interminable.  I  have  known  tense  moments,  but  none 
that  surpasses  the  arrival  of  the  mail  in  lonely  places, 
which  for  weeks  have  been  isolated  from  the  rest  of  the 
world  by  the  floods:  shut  off  by  the  impassable  moun- 
tains. It  is  then  the  mountains  dominate  us  and  silence 
our  pretentiousness.  Like  the  ocean,  they  are  immutable 
and  relentless.  We  know  that  though  every  human 
tie  we  possess  is  calling,  it  cannot  reach  us,  for  it  is 
death  to  attempt  to  cross  the  mountains  in  time  of  flood. 
At  last  the  mail  arrived,  carried  by  a  mozo  on  mule- 
back,    and    Dofia    Marciana,    after   giving   him    a    quart 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         365 

of  hot  coffee,  assorted  and  distributed  the  letters  as  was 
her  custom.  I  recognized  the  writing  of  a  New  York 
friend,  with  the  postmark  "  Mexico  City."  In  his  letter 
he  said  that  he  had  sailed  from  New  York  four  weeks 
since,  having  decided  to  pay  me  a  visit,  and  that  he  was 
then  in  Mexico  City.  He  hoped  I  would  return  there 
at  once  or  send  for  him,  I  consulted  my  friends,  but 
they  said  it  was  out  of  the  question ;  for  only  the  most 
intrepid  and  experienced  mozos  could  get  through 
alive.  Again  I  felt  the  thrall  of  the  mountains.  But 
we  chafe  under  the  limitations  imposed  by  nature,  and 
I  began  to  long  for  Mexico  City  and  felt  impelled 
to  return  there, —  the  more  so  on  account  of  my  friend's 
visit. 

I  have  found  that  the  success  of  an  undertaking,  what- 
ever the  obstacles  may  be,  is  furthered  by  the  deliberate 
beginning  of  preparations ;  and  though  my  friends  were 
doubtful  as  to  how  soon  I  could  safely  begin  my  journey, 
I  engaged  a  mozo  and  pack-animals  and  began  to  get  my 
outfit  in  shape.  I  was  scarcely  ready  when,  the  weather 
having  changed  abruptly,  the  mail  mozo  assured  me  the 
trails  were  passable  and  the  streams  low  enough  for 
crossing.  It  had  been  decided  that  I  should  ride  Don 
Alfredo's  mule,  "  Queen  " ;  and  while  I  hesitated  to  ac- 
cept his  kind  offer,  the  prospect  of  four  days  astride  such 
an  excellent  saddle-animal  was  irresistible.  In  the 
mountains,  the  loan  of  a  man's  rifle  or  of  his  mule  is  the 
test  of  unselfish  friendship.  This  mule  was  gaited  like 
a  horse,  with  a  fast  trot  and  an  easy  gallop ;  and  as  the 
mozo  was  well-mounted,  I  hoped  to  make  Durango  in 
four  days,  which  was  record  time.  Our  first  day's  ride 
should  take  us  to  the  rancho  San  Miguel,  and  it  was 
my  intention  to  sleep  there. 

The  ascent  to  the  summit  took  the  entire  forenoon, 


366         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

and  after  a  hurried  lunch  and  brief  rest  for  the  mules, 
I  pushed  on  over  the  level  mesa,  in  the  direction  of  the 
rancho.  At  sundown  we  were  still  in  the  pines,  and 
my  mozo  wanted  to  go  into  camp,  but  I  had  several 
reasons  for  wishing  to  sleep  at  the  rancho.  First,  it 
meant  that  we  had  covered  the  distance  allotted  for  a 
good  day's  riding:  and  second,  I  had  heard  the  praises 
of  Don  Bias,  the  brother  of  Don  Luis,  from  my  friends 
in  the  mines,  and  I  was  determined  to  meet  him  and 
make  his  acquaintance.  The  dusk  that  had  pervaded  the 
pine  forest  was  now  dispelled  by  the  moon,  and  after 
two  hours'  fast  riding  wc  reached  the  rancho,  and  to 
my  satisfaction  Don  Bias  himself  came  out  to  welcome 
me,  and  to  place  his  house  at  my  disposal.  Don  Luis 
and  the  other  members  of  the  family  were  grouped 
around  a  big  fire  in  the  yard,  with  their  zarapes  about 
them ;  but  Don  Bias  was  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  his  ruddy 
face  and  portly  figure  seeming  to  set  at  naught  the  nip- 
ping night  air.  I  was  glad  to  go  to  the  fire  and  when 
the  saddles  were  ofif  the  animals  I  told  the  mozo  to  get 
supper,  but  Don  Bias  had  other  plans.  He  said  that  I 
must  partake  of  tantitos  frijolcs  (a  few  beans)  with  him  ; 
so  we  went  into  the  cozy  little  dining-room  where  the 
table  was  laid  for  two.  The  supper  consisted  of  de- 
licious frijoles,  flaky  tortillas  and  coffee.  My  provi- 
sion box  was  crammed  with  good  things,  but  something 
in  the  port  of  Don  Bias  told  me  that  to  suggest  opening 
it  would  be  as  ill-timed,  as  it  would  were  I  supping 
with  the  President.  Don  Bias  had  some  of  the  good 
things  later,  but  they  were  offered  with  due  reference  to 
form.  I  found  that  my  estimate  of  Don  Bias  was  right 
when  we  came  to  settle  accounts.  Not  one  cent  would 
he  take  except  for  the  corn,  which  he  really  had  for 
sale.     His  "  No,  sehor  "  meant  "  No."     Of  course  there 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         367 

is  a  "  No,"  that  really  means  "  Yes  " ;  but  the  "  No  " 
of  Don  Bias  was  not  of  this  breed. 

Before  the  evening  was  over,  he  told  me  his  history. 
He  was  the  oldest  of  a  large  family.  His  mother  died  in 
child-birth,  but  her  sister  came  to  mother  the  family,  and 
in  those  days  there  was  plenty  of  money,  his  father  own- 
ing a  large  rancho  stocked  with  sheep  and  cattle,  and  a 
silver  mine.  Then  the  father  died.  The  property  was 
left  in  charge  of  a  near  male  relative,  who,  after  the  man- 
ner often  peculiar  to  male  relatives,  proceeded  to  appro- 
priate it  entirely  to  his  own  ends.  The  good  aunt,  with 
her  brood  of  orphans,  found  herself  penniless  and  natu- 
rally turned  to  Don  Bias,  who  was  then  fourteen  years  old. 
His  one  accomplishment  was  playing  the  harp,  and  when 
the  people  found  he  would  play  for  money  he  was  sum- 
moned from  far  and  near,  to  make  music  for  dances.  "  I 
always  played  with  great  gusto,  but  when  they  got  drunk, 
it  frightened  me,  and  I  hid  among  the  women,"  he  said. 
Music  brought  but  little  money  and  Don  Bias  tried  his 
hand  as  baker,  cook,  and  store  boy,  while  the  good  aunt 
took  in  sewing  and  washing  and  together  they  kept  the 
wolf  from  the  door.  Finally  his  love  of  the  mountains 
and  an  out-of-door  life  led  him  to  become  an  arriero  or 
freighter;  and  he  now  owned  his  own  mules  and  outfit, 
and  the  little  rancho  where  he  enjoyed  life  when  not  on 
the  road. 

I  asked  Don  Bias  why  he  had  never  married.  He 
said  he  had  always  been  too  busy,  first  taking  care 
of  his  young  brothers  and  sisters,  and  later  of  their 
children.  The  rancho  was  then  overrun  with  small 
nieces  and  nephews  and  judging  from  the  resounding 
smacks  I  heard  him  giving  them,  when  they  came  to  say, 
"  May  you  pass  a  good  night ! "  they  were  like  his  own 
children  to  him.     "  I  have  always  been  content  in  seek- 


368         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

ing  a  living,"  said  Don  Bias.  I  fancied  his  contentment 
was  mainly  due  to  the  fact  that  he  was  living  for  those 
rosy-cheeked  youngsters  who  were  forever  hanging  about 
him.  In  nearly  every  family,  there  is  one  who  far  out- 
strips the  others  in  gaining  this  world's  goods;  but  I 
believe  it  is  rare  in  other  countries  for  the  successful  one 
to  take  upon  himself  the  care  of  his  entire  family,  as  so 
often  is  the  case  in  Mexico. 

We  were  in  the  pine  woods  the  greater  part  of  the  next 
day,  and  our  progress  was  slow  owing  to  the  bad  con- 
dition of  the  trail,  and  the  great  number  of  fallen  trees, 
which  often  lay  in  our  path,  compelling  us  to  ride  around 
them.  The  streams  were  deep  and  care  was  necessary 
to  cross  them  safely.  Throughout  this  journey,  the 
mule,  "  Queen,"  showed  rare  intelligence.  Though 
nervous  and  easily  excited,  she  was  gentle  and  kind. 
As  is  usual  with  thoroughbreds,  her  skin  was  delicate, 
and  I  found  the  saddle  was  chafing  her  —  or  rather  she 
informed  me,  by  rubbing  her  nose  against  my  leg.  I 
got  off  and  shifted  the  saddle,  and  from  that  time,  when- 
ever her  back  hurt  her,  she  gave  me  notice  in  the  same 
way ;  yet  gently  and  with  the  utmost  patience. 

That  night  we  camped  in  the  valley,  and  while  the 
mozo  was  cooking  supper,  I  bathed  Queen's  back  and 
rubbed  it  with  liniment.  As  I  was  eating  my  supper,  a 
young  peon  appeared  from  out  of  the  darkness,  and 
taking  off  his  hat,  asked  if  he  might  sleep  by  the  fire 
and  then  walk  with  us  to  Durango,  saying  he  would  help 
with  the  mules.  He  was  a  gentle  little  lad,  and  my  mozo 
was  pleased  to  have  a  companion.  After  they  had  eaten 
supper,  they  began  singing.  They  came  from  the  same 
part  of  the  mountains,  it  seemed,  and  sang  the  same 
songs.  I  soon  fell  asleep,  lulled  by  their  soft  agreeable 
voices. 


I  Ik-  Min 


i£sa 


Dona  Marciana  on  the  trail 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         371 

When  we  started,  the  following  morning,  I  feared  the 
boy  would  not  keep  up,  but  he  was  light  and  swift  as  a 
deer.  Sometimes  he  would  vanish  and  I  feared  he  had 
given  out;  but  to  my  surprise  he  would  be  waiting  for 
us  ahead  on  the  trail.  This  he  managed  by  crossing  the 
ridges,  where  the  trail  went  around  them ;  and  this 
method  of  travel  is  common  among  the  Indians  when 
on  foot. 

I  was  riding  across  a  beautiful  piece  of  meadowland, 
when  from  the  pines  that  skirted  it,  a  man  on  a  white 
horse  emerged  and  rode  toward  me,  his  horse's  hoofs 
making  no  sound  as  he  glided  over  the  springy  turf  — 
a  silent  horseman  from  out  the  silence.  As  he  came 
near  I  recognized  Gregorio,  who  was  one  of  our  most 
faithful  miners  in  the  old  Huahuapan  district.  We  had 
not  met  for  more  than  a  year,  and  of  the  two,  I  was  the 
more  moved  by  our  meeting.  Riding  beside  me,  he  lifted 
his  hat,  gave  me  his  hand,  and  made  inquiries  for  Don 
Alfredo,  Dofia  Marciana,  and  Gumecinda.  Then  he 
asked  when  he  should  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  us 
"  there," —  meaning  Huahuapan.  I  recovered  my  man- 
ners sufficiently  to  say  that  I  hoped  it  might  be  soon,  and 
after  shaking  hands  again,  he  gravely  lifted  his  hat,  and 
rode  silently  and  swiftly  away.  I  have  often  wondered 
at  the  serene  poise  of  these  people;  I  think  they  have 
become  imbued  with  the  calm  of  their  own  mountains. 
I  doubt  not  if  Gregorio  and  I  meet  in  ten  years,  for 
any  demonstration  on  his  part  the  interval  will  seem  as 
a  day. 

My  last  night  in  the  mountains  was  spent  in  an  inter- 
esting spot  called  Charco  Puerco  (Pig  Charco),  its  one 
redeeming  feature  being  that  it  was  near  Durango.  It 
had  rained  in  the  afternoon,  and  though  the  sky  was  clear 
when  I  turned  in,  the  wind  was  blowing  a  gale,  which 


372         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

grew  more  violent  as  the  night  went  on.  I  had  heard  all 
along  the  road  of  the  recent  hurricanes  and  had  never 
before  seen  so  many  fallen  trees.  When  I  finally  fell 
asleep,  the  pines  overhead  were  lashing  about  like  whip- 
cords. I  awoke  at  one  o'clock.  The  sky  was  black 
with  clouds,  the  wind  had  subsided  and  it  was  beginning 
to  rain.  At  two  I  called  the  mozo.  Meantime  it  had 
begun  to  thunder  and  lighten  and  by  the  time  the  pack- 
mules  were  loaded,  there  was  a  sharp  electric  storm  un- 
der way.  Streaks  of  fire  were  darting  across  the  sky, 
the  thunder  was  pealing  on  all  sides,  and  the  rain  fell 
in  sheets.  I  was  again  anxious  about  the  young  peon, 
but  he  was  as  cheerful  as  possible,  and  trotted  along  beside 
the  mozo's  mule.  I  had  them  take  the  lead  with  the 
pack-mules,  and  though  I  could  only  see  them  when  it 
lightened,  I  heard  the  steady  splash  of  the  mules'  feet 
as  they  jogged  along  the  muddy  trail.  I  hoped  the 
weather  would  change  for  the  better  at  daybreak;  but 
it  grew  cold  and  the  rain  turned  to  hail.  It  evidently 
hurt  the  mules  and  they  refused  to  go,  except  under 
liberal  persuasion.  The  ground  was  soon  white  and 
from  that  time,  for  nine  hours,  it  rained  and  hailed 
alternately,  with  the  most  glorious  electric  storm  I  ever 
experienced,  and  with  dazzling  bursts  of  sunshine  in 
between,  that  lasted  at  most  ten  minutes  at  a  time. 
Then  great  masses  of  clouds  would  dart  up  from  the 
horizon,  the  sky  would  grow  black  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  and  the  storm  would  begin  again. 

I  passed  a  burro  train  laden  with  heavy  timbers.  The 
Indian  boy  who  was  driving  them  was  a  sorry  looking 
object,  but  as  I  came  up  to  him,  I  heard  the  familiar 
strains  of  "  La  Paloma "  and  found  he  was  playing  a 
mouth-organ.  He  was  covered  with  mud  and  the  water 
was   running  off  his    soaked   sombrero   upon  his   more 


THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO         373 

soaked  zarape,  but  if  facial  expression  meant  anything, 
he  was  perfectly  happy. 

The  first  glimpse  of  Durango,  as  I  approached  it  from 
the  mountains,  was  wonderful.  I  was  riding  across  an 
extensive  mesa,  thinking  of  nothing  in  particular,  when 
suddenly  I  saw  it,  lying  away  off  over  the  tops  of  the 
intervening  mountains,  veiled  in  ethereal  blue  like  a 
mirage,  a  dream  city.  This  time,  though  I  was  riding  in 
the  rain,  the  sun  was  shining  on  the  cathedral  towers, 
and  the  city  seemed  to  rest  on  the  clouds,  which  were 
piled  below  it  and  all  about  it.  It  was  my  promised  land, 
yet  near  as  it  seemed,  it  was  still  a  good  four  hours' 
ride  away.  "  Queen  "  saw  it  as  quickly  as  I  did.  She 
was  a  Durango  mule,  but  had  not  seen  her  native  soil 
for  three  years.  She  was  dead  tired,  but  in  the  same 
instant  that  I  discerned  the  city,  she  pointed  her  ears 
inquisitively,  and  struck  into  a  smart  trot.  When  we 
lost  sight  of  it,  she  lagged,  but  on  a  second  glimpse,  up 
went  her  ears  and  off  she  trotted.  When  she  was 
bought  in  Durango,  she  had  for  stable  mate  a  white 
horse,  and  mules  are  fond  of  horses.  When  we  struck 
the  highway,  leading  into  the  city,  we  found  it  heavy 
from  the  rain,  and  I  vowed  I  would  not  touch  her  with 
the  spur  if  she  walked  all  the  way  to  Durango.  Sud- 
denly a  Mexican  passed  me  at  a  gallop  on  a  white  horse. 
She  pricked  up  her  ears,  whinnied,  and  started  off  at  a 
lively  trot  again,  never  quitting  it  till  we  entered  the  city. 

It  is  a  long  ride  that  has  no  ending.  This  one  had 
meant  fourteen  hours  in  the  saddle  without  a  halt ;  but 
presently  I  found  myself  before  the  hotel,  with  the 
amiable  mozo,  Leon,  grinning  in  the  zaguan.  With  his 
kindly  assistance  I  was  soon  in  bed,  and  after  a  bite  to 
eat  and  an  alcohol  rub,  I  fell  asleep,  to  wake  the  next 
morning  "  as   fit  as  a  fiddle."     After   settling  accounts 


374         THE  MAN  WHO  LIKES  MEXICO 

with  the  mozo,  I  went  to  the  corral  to  take  leave  of 
"  Queen,"  who  was  to  return  with  him  to  the  mines. 
The  other  mules  had  freight  to  carry  home,  but  "  Queen  " 
would  frolic  along  the  trail  without  so  much  as  the 
weight  of  a  saddle.  She  received  my  farewell  caress 
pleasantly,  and  when  I  called  her  "  Queen  of  Durango 
Mules,"  did  not  demur. 

That  night,  when  I  took  train  for  Mexico  City,  it  was 
with  a  feeling  of  contentment.  I  already  anticipated 
anew  the  pleasant  life  of  the  capital.  But  underlying 
all,  for  future  solace,  was  the  thought  of  my  late  journey, 
—  of  other  journeys,  however  distant,  over  Mexico's 
illimitable  mountains. 

Two  ties  unite  my  heart  to  Mexico  —  first,  love  of 
friends ;  last  and  always,  her  mountains. 

Rough-piled,   far-flung,  unending,  range  on  range ; 
And  still  beyond  all  wrapped  in  purple  mist, 
Are  mountains  dimly  beckoning.     .     .    . 


THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


rra 


JUN  18  1973 
1  8  1973 


gECTD  i 

I    SEPHU  _ 

JUN  211988 
MflR  2  2  1989 

WO  iL-UTi     APR  0  5  lt?9 


StCD  ID-i-hi. 


Vi 


URL 


Form  L9— Series  444  • 


APR  I  3 


URUD     ^^^  ^^  ^^^^ 


yj^jMi^^diSil 


3  1158  01259  2019 

1215 
Giflm 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  040  380    6 


